


rebuilding a family

by aac7



Series: friends being a headache [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cats, F/M, Felileth Week (Fire Emblem), Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund, Minor Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, Soft Felix Hugo Fraldarius, marriage fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25365448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aac7/pseuds/aac7
Summary: Nine hours after officially becoming the 'Shield of Faerghus,' the first thing that the newly anointed Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius recalled hearing from his advisor, was that he needed to provide an heir. Immediately."Children are like cats," Felix had said to Byleth once. "You feed them, play with them, watch them grow, and generally keep them alive until they can do that themselves."Well, he isn't wrong.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Series: friends being a headache [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958674
Comments: 39
Kudos: 170





	1. Chivalry & Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Felileth Week has been a blessing and the weekend is the one time I don't have work and have time to write. 
> 
> Day 7 - Family

Nine hours after officially becoming the 'Shield of Faerghus,' the first thing that the newly anointed Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius recalled hearing from his advisor, was that he needed to provide an heir. Immediately. 

If someone had told him this five years prior, he would have likely punched them in the face. And he had. Sylvain’s nose was now stuck at a slightly odd angle for even suggesting something so ludicrous. 

Now, though, five years wiser, he understood. As the last known bearer of the Crest of Fraldarius, as the last surviving member of the renowned House Fraldarius, providing an heir was yet another _duty_ thrust into his hands. 

Nine days later, he brought it up with his wife of three months, who just so happened to be the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros. Byleth hadn’t been surprised. Little ever caught her off guard — including the sword he had drawn upon the announcement of her arrival — and this had been no exception. 

“What do you want?” She had asked the night of their reunion, her fingers lazily grazing over the scar-ridden planes of his chest. “Felix, a family isn’t something you start out of duty.” 

Sometimes he forgot that Byleth, despite now holding what was arguably one of the highest stations in all of Fódlan, was raised a commoner. In the world of the nobility, families were almost always started out of duty. Children were products of political marriages, brought into the world with the sole purpose of bearing a crest and reaping its benefits to both govern and defend. The power — both physical and political — of crests was stamped into Faerghus’ history, something that the boar— er, Dimitri, was trying to remedy. 

Being one of those “crest babies,” as Sylvain often referred to them as, Felix definitely saw the benefit of having a crest. It made him stronger.

...That was about it. But, unlike his friends, that was all that Felix had cared about anyway. 

Perhaps it was because unlike his friends, Felix had never been so inclined to uphold the duties and responsibilities of a proper noble. Sylvain, while he despised the entire ordeal, had an inner sense of loyalty to his house. As the wielder of the Lance of Ruin, it was his duty to take up his father’s mantle and defend the northernmost borders of Faerghus.

Ingrid’s family had hung their entire future on her crest-bearing blood. She’d been promised to Glenn at a young age, and upon his untimely death, Count Galatea had searched far and wide for someone to marry his daughter off to in order to preserve the future of their crumbling house. She’d always been bound by her loyalty to cast away her own dreams to repay her family. It was her duty, she’d told him when they were kids and he’d asked why she wanted to marry Glenn. 

“Duty is exactly the reason why people like us start families,” he’d responded stiffly to Byleth that night. “You’re a noble now, Byleth.” 

What did it mean to be a noble? Duty. He hated the word, detested its meaning on a level on par with his dislike of the concepts of chivalry. Duty is binding, a fact he knows all too well. To dedicate your life to those you serve, no questions asked. Chivalry was a divider. It’s purpose was to make people well-mannered, but also to separate the nobles from the common people. Social divisions were blurred, those within the frames of knighthood, crest-bearers, and aristocracy used chivalry as a means to persuade themselves that they were superior. Lorenz and Ferdinand obsessed over it, and, like Glenn, had been sent to the grave for it. The entire concept made his skin crawl and his stomach twist. Maybe it was the fact that his brother and father had both bound themselves to it, costing them their lives.

Maybe.

Chivalrous and dutiful were two traits that Felix had never resolved himself to be. That had been on Glenn for so long, as the original heir. He was the epitome of a stalwart knight, seemingly brought to life from the pages of those silly tales of knighthood that Ingrid and Ashe obsessed over. Polite, chivalrous, and loyal, he was the ideal choice for an heir, his father couldn’t have been luckier. 

But then the burnt out torch had been passed on to Felix after the fool had sacrificed himself for his liege. In light of the events that had transpired, Felix had placed considerable distance between himself and his father. He’d refused to be built up into a disposable unit to serve as Dimitri’s shield. 

Then the old man had up and done the exact same thing as his eldest son, leaving Felix, who had never been groomed to govern their territory, with an unwanted title and unwelcome expectations to uphold. 

He was learning, though. He may not want to govern, or be cut out for it, but that didn’t mean he could turn his back on the people that his family had sworn to protect. It wasn’t as if his father were here to influence him with his talk of “true knighthood” anymore, he had someone else to blaze a new trail with, one that was his own. 

Byleth, to her credit, had known enough about the workings of the nobility to understand what he meant. “We aren’t like them,” Byleth had reminded him gently. “You love me and I love you. No one forced us together, no one is forcing us, forcing _you_ to do anything. I’ll ask again — what do you want?” 

What did he want? That was easy. He wanted to spend his days sparring with and loving his wife, drinking smooth wine with his friends, and rebuilding his territory. What more could a man want after five years of war? Byleth had smiled when he admitted as much, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and drifting off to sleep not long after when Felix began to rub slow circles on the smooth surface of her back. 

He watches her as she sleeps, appreciating the curve of her nose, the pinkness of her cheeks, and brushing away the stray hairs that fall in her face. As much as he wants everything he had admitted to her, he wants more. He wants to help Dimitri and Sylvain loosen the hold that crests hold over Fódlan. He wants to let people know that there’s more you can do living and protecting your liege rather than dying for them. For the longest time, he wouldn’t know where to begin with any of that. But looking at Byleth now, that’s when it hits him.

An heir. That’s how he begins. 

It’s sudden, like the shock of thunder from Dorothea that had nearly burnt him to a crisp during that first mock battle between the houses. He remembered watching Byleth and Dimitri teach swordsmanship to the orphans in the monastery — they’d hogged the training grounds that afternoon, Felix hadn’t been happy about it. Between his grumblings of annoyance and displeasure as he waited, he’d caught the way her mouth, back then seeming to be permanently pressed into a hard line, had curved the slightest bit upwards when a child had hugged her legs and said “thank you, mama!” 

Felix’s heart, often described by Sylvain as colder than the winters of Faerghus, had warmed a little that day. 

Not that he would ever admit it.

Another memory, this time he’s watching her from afar. She’d called him heavy footed in their last sparring session, saying he needed to work on his stealth if he wished to land a damaging blow on her. 17 year old him had been greatly offended, and wanted to show her just how stealthy he could be. So, naturally, he’d taken a page out of Claude’s book and observed her actions on their free day, following her around the monastery until he found the perfect moment to pounce and finally notch a win against her. 

He’d found the perfect moment to do it too, when she had rounded past the market and around the side of the entrance hall. Her hands were occupied, using both hands to carry a large bucket full of small fish she had just spent the last half hour gutting, a rare moment where they weren’t resting on the hilt on her sword. He was about to draw his sword and rush her, when he saw where she was headed. She dropped the bucket beside a young girl, kneeling beside her and helping her feed a group of cats. 

The very group of cats that Felix had secretly been bringing his dinner scraps to.

He settles himself behind a nearby wall, watching as a familiar cat, a familiar Fraldarius Wirehair, crawls into Byleth’s lap, settling in for a nap. 

Traitor. 

Byleth immediately strokes the cat’s sleek black fur, the feline purring with content. “What’s her name?” He heard Byleth ask the girl, who looked up from the three cats she was feeding. 

“Felix said he named her Catana.” 

Felix feels his cheeks burn and whips back around the wall. Another traitor. 

“...Katana?” He heard her repeat slowly, the amusement evident in her usually monotone voice. “Felix named a cat after a sword?” 

The girl shook her head. “No, like ‘Cat-ana,’ Felix said it was a pun.” 

Byleth starts laughing, the sound ringing around the small side alley clear as a bell. The sound startled Felix, who realized that he’d never heard her laugh before. Catana, also startled, leaps out of her lap and starts walking alarmingly close to his hiding spot. 

...And starts meowing. Loudly. 

He should have let her starve. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, too afraid to move and draw Catana closer. When the screaming cat sounds subside, he pries one eye open to see the girl standing in front of him, holding Catana in her arms. “Felix!” She cried loudly, grabbing his hand and pulling him from hiding toward Byleth and the other cats. 

When he’s forced to sit with their little group, he’s stolen a look at her. He’d never seen her look so amused, and he supposed it had been a funny sight. Felix Fraldarius, brough to his knees by a little girl and her army of cats. 

Felix is brought back to the present when a weight presses down on his chest. He looks down to see Thoron, who just so happened to be one of Catana’s kittens, settling in for the night. 

Byleth stirs in her sleep, murmuring his name. _She’d be a good mother_ , Felix had realized as he recalled her soft interactions with the children and the cats of the monastery. He could learn to be a good father, but she was already there. Together, they could teach their child, and a new generation, what it means to truly live in service of yourself first, and your country after. 

Careful of the cat snoozing on his chest, he leans down and presses a kiss to his wife's temple, and she immediately ceases her stirring. He'll talk to her about it in the morning.

~~~

Nine weeks later, the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros, also known as the Duchess of Fraldarius, stands on the steps of Castle Fraldarius with her husband at her side, and together they announce that she is with child. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the announcement reaches Gautier, Felix receives a letter from Sylvain with a single sentence.
> 
> "Congrats on the sex."


	2. A New Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is full of surprises, especially for Byleth and Felix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix being soft for his wife and his wife only.

It was a beautiful spring morning in Garreg Mach. The sun was already shining, the breeze was cool, the wet snow was beginning to dry up. Normally, Byleth would have loved to sit outside on a morning like this and chat over breakfast with her husband and their dearest friend and ally. Something was off though, and it bothered her to not know why. All Byleth could focus on while Claude spoke was the smell of the freshly scrambled eggs left untouched on the plate in front of her. Her stomach obviously didn’t agree with something, even though she hadn’t so much as touched any food since the sun came up. Feeling her mouth begin to salivate, she grabbed her teacup, grimacing when she realized it was already empty. Her stomach flipped, and she snatched Felix’s cup, downing its contents and ignoring the burn it left in her mouth, trying to force whatever was trying to come up back down into her stomach. Felix and Claude eyed her for a moment before resuming their conversation, though she noticed Felix watching her out of the corner of his eye. The tea only provided temporary relief, and a minute later she knew this time she wouldn’t be able to force it back down.

In an act very unbecoming of the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros and the Duchess of Fraldarius, she promptly rose from her seat and proceeded to retch over the balcony into the neatly trimmed hedges below. She made a mental note to apologize to the gardeners later today. Felix was at her side in an instant, simply holding her hair away from her face and rubbing soothing circles over her back, murmuring words of comfort until her already empty stomach was cleaned out completely.

Turning back to where Claude was sitting, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, gratefully accepting a glass of water Felix pushed into her other hand. “You alright there, Teach?” Claude asked, brow raised.

She waved him off. “I’m fine,” she sighed, dropping into her seat and picking up her fork. She ignored the questioning looks of the two men in front of her and stared down at her breakfast. A thick slice of bacon, scrambled egg whites with peppers and cheese, assorted berries, and a chocolate-chip muffin. Byleth didn’t understand why she was so put off by her favourite meal, but maybe now that her stomach was empty, she could enjoy it. She picked up her cutlery and speared a piece of egg, but immediately placed it back on the plate as soon as the smell drifted back into her face, her stomach doing another flip. She glared down at her food as if it were an enemy on the battlefield. She was _so_ hungry and _very_ annoyed.

“Byleth,” Felix said beside her, prying the fork out of her grasp. “You haven’t eaten anything yet but you look like you’re going to vomit again.”

“You also look like you want to strangle your breakfast,” Claude chuckles across from her. She shoots him her most venomous glare, efficiently silencing his amusement as he turns his attention to Felix. “I, uh, maybe we can pick this up later today? I have…stuff I wanted to do before the official audience later, and your wife is giving me her ‘Claude-you-have-detention-go-clean-the-stables’ look, and I still have nightmares about it.” Felix let out a snort, but Byleth rolls her eyes, glaring at his back as he swiftly exits the terrace. Of course there was no real venom in it, and judging by the way Claude turns back to wink at her, he knew it too. For some reason, she just found herself more irritable, a feeling further stoked by her growing hunger.

A cool hand pressed against her forehead, and she looked up to see Felix wearing a deep frown on his face. “You’re still warm. You’ve been warmer than usual these past few days. You could have a fever,” he observed, and Byleth knew what was coming next. “You should see go Mercedes.”

Swatting his hand away from her face, she shook her head. “Felix, I don’t _feel_ sick,” she insisted. She knew what it was like to have a fever, and this was not it. “It is rather warm out right now, and as for the nausea, we did just sit down with Claude ‘hey Teach I made poison want to try it?’ von Riegan. Remember when he slipped that laxative into Sylvain’s tea during his last visit?” Felix muttered something, and she knew he hadn’t forgotten because how could they? Sylvain had camped in the bathroom for the whole evening.

“Yes, but since returning to Garreg Mach two weeks ago, your behaviour has been… different,” he said slowly, his voice hesitant. “You go to bed earlier than usual, you take naps at your desk, you don’t finish your meals. Yes, I know spring has arrived but Byleth, the only time you’re this warm is after a good training session, and we’ve just rolled out of bed an hour ago,” he pointed out. “Also, you’ve yielded in nearly every one of our sparring sessions in the past week.” That, Byleth had to admit, was the most unusual of all the so called symptoms he had listed. 

“Maybe you’ve gotten better?” She suggests with a shrug. “Perhaps your wish has been granted and you’ve finally surpassed me in strength and skill?” Byleth jokes, but feels Felix grip her hand tightly. When it came to expressing concern, her husband was never quite so eloquent with his words, but his actions often spoke volumes. 

“Felix, I can’t,” she groans, pulling out of his arms. “I have an audience with Dimitri and Claude at the ninth bell. I have to go.” When she sees his pout, so unusual but so extremely effective, she sighs, because it’s impossible to say no when he looks like _that._ “Alright, I’ll go after, but you’ll be busy when I’m free, so I’ll go on my own and fill you in tonight, I promise,” she offers, reaching for his other hand and squeezing it. “When Mercedes tells me that I’m completely fine I can say my favourite phrase and we can get Claude back for all the times he’s messed with our meals,” she teased, eliciting a sharp laugh from him. “It’s sweet to see that you care, though,” she coos sweetly, pinching his cheek.

“I just don’t want to lose the only good sparring partner in Fódlan,” he chuckles, pulling her close again and placing a kiss on her forehead. “Although, I am definitely interested in getting Claude back for the time he slipped some of his ‘special honey’ into my tea when I wasn’t looking,” he said with a slight scowl.

“I saw him,” Byleth remembered, reminiscing on how she had chased a puppy through the courtyard at just the right moment. “Did you think it was a coincidence he got detention and had to clean the stables later that day?”

  
  


__________

  
  


“Professor?” Byleth looks up from her paperwork, seeing Mercedes poke her head through the door of her study. “Can I come in?” With a sigh, she shoves her paperwork aside and places her quill in the pot, waving Mercedes in. “Oh, Professor,” she gasps, “you look a little paler than usual.”

Byleth frowns, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. Her skin was naturally pale, but for someone to call her paler than usual was…unsettling. “Really? Seteth said something last week but you know how he is,” she shrugs. Seteth was overly analytical and observant, and never failed to notice the slightest changes in those around him, especially when it came to changes to the Archbishop’s health. In fact, she was scheduled to travel home to Fraldarius a week early by request of Seteth, who insisted that she take some time off to rest. Mercedes giggles, the bishop knowing full well what her advisor was like.

“Well, I spoke to Felix earlier, and if Seteth is concerned, I think you are long overdue for a standard check-up, Professor,” she announces, holding up her kit of equipment. “Now, would you like to do this here, or in the infirmary?” Not sensing much of a choice, Byleth decides that she was feeling too tired to walk all the way from her study to the opposite end of the monastery. “A full physical should suffice!” Mercedes’ voice was far too cheerful as she ushered Byleth out of her chair. “By orders of the Duke Fraldarius!” 

“I suppose there’s no avoiding it then,” she chuckles, rising from her seat. It had been a while since she last visited the infirmary for her own health. Byleth takes her headpiece off, gently setting it on her desk. It didn’t exactly need to come off for a checkup, but she took any opportunity to take the weight off her head.

Standing in her smallclothes, Byleth held her arms out and let the healer do her thing as she poked and prodded and squeezed. “So, Felix tells me that your behaviour has been unusual lately, care to fill me in?” Mercedes questions as she shines a light in both her eyes.

She shivers when she felt Mercedes check on the deep scar along the centre of her chest, recalling what Felix had said earlier. “I’ve been going to bed earlier, even though I’ve been taking more naps. I haven’t really been able to eat as much as I would like to and,” she thought back to a few hours prior, where she had snapped at a maid for rearranging the objects on her desk in an attempt to tidy up. She had apologized to the poor woman of course, but it was so out of character for her. “I suppose I have been a tad bit irritable lately.” Mercedes hums, scribbling down the list of symptoms, and Byleth could see the corners of her mouth curl upwards as she studies the list.

Luckily she was able to slip her dress back on when Dedue knocked on the door. “His Majesty has heard of her Grace’s predicament, and wanted me to make sure her Grace’s check-up was going well,” he says, his face stoic but softening at the sight of his wife standing with the Archbishop. “Is everything going alright?”

“I was just going over the list of the Professor’s symptoms, and I think I’ve come to quite the conclusion, dear,” Mercedes giggles, waving the list in the air. Dedue takes the list, reading over it with an amused expression as he looks at Mercedes, a rare smile on his face. Byleth felt her palms begin to sweat, the lack of explanation making her anxious. “Okay, I just have one more question for you, Professor.” Byleth’s leg was bouncing, her fingers tapping her knee as she nods. “When was your last period?”

Byleth opened her mouth to answer, because her period came like clockwork. On the 14th of every moon. She closed her mouth though, because today was the 28th, and she hadn’t gone to Mercedes to get herbs to ease cramps. She hadn’t used sanitary products, because she didn’t need them. “I…don’t think I had mine this month,” she answered, the pieces falling in place. The nausea, the fatigue, the irritability. Byleth had read enough books to know that this definitely was _not_ a fever or mild stomach poison.

_Oh._

Mercedes and Dedue have wide smiles on their faces now, and Mercedes presses a hand to Byleth’s stomach, white healing magic flowing through her hand, turning purple. “Just as I thought. Professor… you’re pregnant! I estimate you’re about seven weeks along now, how exciting!” Byleth swallows thickly, her mind relaying all the events of the past few weeks, starting with the moment Felix had discussed the siring of an heir. 

They’d both agreed that they would wait a year or so more. Fraldarius territory needed tending to, the Church was in the process of major political reform, and Dimitri needed their help transitioning Fodlan into a state of relative harmony. However, it was becoming quickly apparent that their spar - both in the entrance hall and in their chambers - had resulted in more than a few broken vases. Contraceptive herbs had been forgotten, but until now, the thought had never crossed Byleth’s mind. “You’re having a baby!” Mercedes claps happily.

“A…a what?” She repeats, mentally slapping herself for sounding so stupid, but not able to think of anything other than what Felix was going to say. Oh goddess, what was Felix going to say? Was he ready to become a father? Did he _want_ to be a father so soon? She was going to be pregnant. Would she be able to stand during mass? How would she keep up with their ritual sparring sessions? She would constantly need her clothes to be resized and altered here and in Fraldarius. Was she ready to be a mother? Would the child end up like her? Without a heartbeat and not crying? Would they have a hard time with emotions? Did someone light the fireplace? Is that why it’s so hot? Why was the room spinning?

“Your Grace!” Was the last thing she heard before she felt herself start to sway and plummet to the floor.

  
  


__________

  
  


Dedue’s worried face was the first thing that slowly swam into Byleth’s field of view. She struggled to get up, but was gently pushed back down by Mercedes. She wasn’t on the floor anymore, but was now lying in bed. “What happened?” She asks groggily, blinking a few times to focus her vision. 

“You had a panic attack and passed out,” Mercedes murmurs, dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth. “Professor, you really should rest more often. I know how hard you work, now it’s time to start taking it easy. 

Byleth shakes her head. “I’m the Archbishop and a duchess, Mercedes. I can’t afford to rest.” She was already thinking about the stacks of paperwork that would end up on her desk if she took even a week off, the thought making her shudder. 

“Seteth would take over more of your duties without complaint,” Dedue says beside her. “His Majesty would gladly reduce the amount of required travel to the capital. You are carrying the heir to the House Fraldarius, after all. 

Byleth simply stared at Dedue, processing his words. _She was carrying the heir to one of the most highly distinguished houses in Fódlan._ Thankfully Mercedes had sensed her discomfort, placing a hand on her husband’s chest. 

“Alright, honey,” Mercedes laughed nervously, pushing him aside a little. “Run along and find your liege and the Duke, they have some things to discuss.” Dedue rose and bowed, offering her his congratulations before swiftly taking his leave. “Are you alright?” Mercedes asks gently, pushing some hair away from her face. 

“I just…A baby.” Byleth sighed, pushing herself up into a sitting position. “Felix and I have talked about having children before and at the time I was so convinced I was ready but…I didn’t really think about it until it happened. Mercedes…my mother died in childbirth. What if that happens to me? I…I can’t...” She could feel tears begin to prickle the corners of her eyes, quickly swiping them away. 

Mercedes squeezed her hand. “Come now, I promise I won’t let that happen to you. Besides, medicine has come a long way since then. I’m sure we’ll be able to prevent whatever happened to your mother all those years ago. I’ll start putting together a birth plan. I’ll make sure you have the best team at your disposal,” she assures her, helping dull the panic just a little. 

The door flew open, a sickening crack making both women jump and whip their heads towards the door. Felix stood in the doorway, doorknob in his hand, wide eyes zeroing in on her. She’d never seen him look so stressed, so disheveled, brandishing a sword as if an intruder had struck. “Byleth, Dedue told me you fainted.” He said, dropping the sword, rushing to her side and kneeling beside the bed. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re sick. I told you to wear more layers. Spring in the mountains will always be cold.” 

Mercedes clears her throat, a wide smile on her face. “I’ll give you two a moment to chat, then we have a lot to discuss,” she said, packing up her things and shutting the broken door behind her as best she could.

Felix looked so stressed, and she moved to smooth her hand through his hair, but pulled back when she noticed that her hand was shaking. She settled them in her lap instead, drawing a sharp breath. 

“I’m pregnant,” she breathed, watching as he opened and closed his mouth, lips trembling. She had never been one to beat around the bush. Felix had always admired that about her. “Felix? Please say something, I’m panicking a little,” she admitted, unclasping her hands and reaching for him. 

He blinked a couple of times, no doubt still processing her abrupt revelation. “I’m just…you’re sure?” he checked, crawling up into bed to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her. “You’re pregnant?” To her surprise, there was a slow smile spreading across his lips. 

Byleth could only manage a nod. 

“I know it’s certainly earlier than we discussed,” she began cautiously, testing the waters. “Fódlan isn’t entirely united, the Church is an absolute wreck, and Fraldarius—”

He cuts off her nervous ramble with a kiss, his mouth sealing hers shut and stealing her breath. “Fraldarius,” he breathes softly when he pulls away. “Fraldarius will be fine. Fódlan will be okay. The Church will get its act together. As long as you’re—Hey, why are you crying?” 

She hadn’t even been aware that she was crying until he wiped a tear away with his thumb, cupping her cheek in his hand. It was as if a dam had broken in her mind, and her every thought—every fear— had come pouring out. “It’s a big change, Felix. I won’t be able to train with you or stand that long during mass. My body is going to be different. Everything is going to change and I thought I would be ready but I don't think I am—” 

“Hey,” Felix whispered, lightly gripping the bottom of her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze. “No matter what happens, no matter how big you get or how slow you move, I’ll be with you every step of the way, okay?”

Byleth released a relieved, but trembling breath, wrapping her arms around Felix and burying her face in his cloak. "Thank you," she choked out, feeling his arms snake around her waist, and burying his face in the crook of her neck. The next few months were going to be an entirely new experience for Byleth, filled with fear and anxiety and every emotion in between.

She hears Felix sniffle once, feeling a few tears leak onto her shoulder as he pulls her so close that she's practically sitting in his lap.

Byleth couldn't think of a better partner to experience it with. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix sits down their cat, Thoron, and explains that they'll still love him even after the baby is born.


	3. To Be Loved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is life without a little bit of love?

**First Trimester**

**_Stupid Pregnancy Hormones_ **

“I think Byleth is avoiding me.” 

Sylvain carefully sets down his fresh cup of bergamot, leaning back in the chair across from him, stroking his imaginary chin hairs thoughtfully. “How long has she been ignoring you?”

“Since this morning, before you and Ingrid arrived,” Felix explains. It was well into the afternoon now, and she hadn’t uttered more than five words to him. In the months since they had married, Felix had grown well accustomed to their morning routine. He relied on it, depended on it to keep him sane as he grew into his role of Duke. But as expected, pregnancy had uprooted the entire system as he had known it. The time they used to dedicate sparring until breakfast was now spent in the bathroom, Felix holding Byleth’s hair back as she retched into the basin. He no longer got to see her during meals, as she grazed frequently throughout the day, taking her meals at odd hours. Their nights, previously filled with a healthy dose of swordplay that doubled as foreplay, was nonexistent. At first Byleth had tried to fight through her exhaustion, but Felix had insisted she take it easy, much to her dismay. 

As disappointed as he may be in the changes in their day to day lives, he understood. She was pregnant, change was necessary. One thing he was having trouble adjusting to, however, was the sudden change of her temperament. Felix had never been particularly good at reading emotions, but _just_ as he was starting to wrap his brain around Byleth’s, he’s swept right back to the start. _I need my tea,_ she had huffed to him this morning, all but rushing out of their chambers without so much as a glance in his direction. 

Beside Sylvain, Ingrid raises a brow. “Did you do anything particularly damning?” 

He hadn’t had a chance to, because she’d been avoiding him since breakfast. She had her meal sent up to her study, claiming she was behind on paperwork, and leaving Felix to dine alone. “She hasn’t talked to me all morning. She didn’t eat with me, she skipped our— uh, _my_ training session, and she hasn’t come to talk to me during lunch like she usually does.”

“Did you try going to her instead?” 

“Of course I tried,” he snaps, and Sylvain holds his hands up in surrender. “She slammed the door in my face.” More specifically, she had glared at him, called him rude, and _then_ slammed the door in his face. “I don’t understand, she’s never...done this before.” 

“Hey, she’s three months pregnant, she’s allowed to be a little cranky,” Ingrid chuckles, a hand rubbing her own slightly protruding stomach. “But, she wouldn’t be so without reason. What did you say to her during your last conversation?” 

Felix bristles. “What makes you think it was something I said?” 

Sylvain and Ingrid seem to hesitate, exchanging a look before Sylvain clears his throat. “Ah, you aren’t exactly the most...eloquent in expressing your thoughts. You can be a little too blunt for your own good.” 

Felix had never been one to hold his tongue. He didn’t mince his words or pull his punches. He didn’t see the point in censoring himself for the sake of others. Felix delivers harsh truths like one does revenge: cold as the winters of Faerghus. To him, what people thought of that was irrelevant, and he made damn well sure that they knew it. 

“What does that have to do with Byleth avoiding me?”

“Just tell us about your last conversation,” Ingrid groans. Pregnancy was making her already short patience with both Felix and her own husband much shorter. 

“Okay. We were getting ready, and she asked if I thought she was getting big, so I looked her up and down—”

“Wait a minute,” Sylvain interrupts. “You _looked_ at her before you answered? Please tell me you didn’t say ‘yes’ too.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Obviously I said yes after I looked.” How else would he have come to a conclusion? “Her stomach is bigger.” 

Sylvain sighs wearily, and Ingrid fixes him a disapproving stare. “When a woman asks you about her appearance, you never give them a once over.” Sylvain explains quite seriously. He wasn’t even this serious during a royal audience in Fhirdiad. “It’s like a knee jerk response. ‘Do I look big?’ ‘No.’ You don’t hesitate. ‘Do these shoes go with this dress?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Does size matter?’” 

“No,” Ingrid replies immediately, and Sylvain gestures proudly to his wife.

“See? It goes both ways.” 

“But Byleth always appreciates the truth,” he argues. “If anyone can handle it, it’s her. She’s not weak like everyone else.”

“Yes, but Felix, she’s pregnant. Her hormones are all over the place,” Ingrid reminds him slowly, as if she’s speaking to a child. “She could be self-conscious about her appearance.” 

“She’s never self-conscious. Why would she start now?” Felix huffs. Byleth had never been the type of woman to fuss over her appearance. His wife was a natural beauty, requiring little time spent on fixing herself up. Not only was it unnecessary, but she had simply never put that much effort into it. Felix much preferred her in her day to day wear of cottons and leathers than dolled up in the silks and ribbons of her Duchess/Archbishop regalia anyways.

“Her body has gone through a change,” Ingrid points out. “A change she doesn’t really have control over. How do you think she feels? This change means she can’t perform her daily tasks with the same practiced ease, it means that she can’t even spar with you anymore, something I know is...special to both of you. I know I was upset when Mercedes said I eventually wouldn’t be able to ride my pegasus.” 

Felix doesn’t reply, crossing his arms over his chest and starting out the window, a deep frown forming. Nearing the end of her first trimester, the physician had told her that strenuous physical activity was off the table. With great reluctance, she had been forced to set her sword aside, watching from the sidelines of the training grounds as he ground Fraldarius troops into the ground one after the other. Maybe...maybe he had been too insensitive. 

There were some times that he wished he _had_ held his tongue. He wished the filter in his brain actually had the courage to tell him when to shut up every once in a while. “Do I go apologize to her now? What if I look at her wrong again?” He’s genuinely concerned now. 

“Yes!” The couple across from him exclaim rather loudly, and Felix nearly recoils at the unexpected volume of the response. 

“Just don’t look at her too pitifully. You know, the way you used to look at a stray kittens around the monastery.” 

“But don’t avoid looking at her either, you’ll look too guilty.” 

Ingrid and Sylvain proceed to bicker on the ‘safe zone,’ the conversation beginning to give Felix a headache. He’s a little relieved that Dimitri isn’t here to join the fray. Felix has never been religious, but he sends a quick prayer up to the goddess to give him strength before walking out of the sitting room towards his wifes study.

…

  
  


He knocks softly once. “By?” 

“Come in,” she calls from the other side, and Felix takes a deep breath before pushing the door open. Byleth looks up from her paperwork, blinking at him twice before diving back into her missives. “Felix,” she says, the tone eerily reminiscent of a warning tone directed one too many times at Sylvain during the academy. “What are you doing here?"

Felix fixes his gaze on her face, careful not to let his eyes wander. “I came to see how you were doing.”

She doesn’t look up. “I’m fine.” 

“Okay…” He waits for her to snap at him, for her to do anything, really, but she doesn’t.

“Okay.”

The silence stretches out thickly between them as they both wait. They may as well have their swords drawn, live steel brandished as they circle each other, waiting for the moment the other’s patience runs out. 

She dips her quill into the ink pot, tapping off its excess before setting it to the paper. Felix recognizes the familiar loops of her signature. “Was that all?” 

At the sound of her voice, Felix is once again faced with the reality of the situation. He was but a man who didn’t quite understand the mind of his pregnant wife. He clears his throat, moving towards her desk with a cautious stride. “Uh, no. I wanted...I wanted to apologize, you know, for earlier.”

Her quill stops moving. “For what, exactly?” 

Felix slowly lowers himself into one of the chairs across from her desk. Was she really going to make him say it? Or was this some sort of...test? “For this morning.”

This time she sets the quill down, interlocking her fingers on the desk in front of her and looking him right in the eye. “What about this morning?” 

He feels a flash of annoyance flare through his veins, like the time she’d teased him throughout his awkward proposal. “Goddess, Byleth,” he groans, slapping a hand to his forehead and dragging it down his face. “You’re beautiful! Alright? I don’t tell you enough, and I’m sorry. Is that what you need to hear?” 

She sighs deeply, rising from her seat and walking out from behind her desk, placing her hands down in either side of his face. “No, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t mean to hurt my feelings.”

He’s relieved she knows this. Relieved she understands him better than anyone. He’s even more relieved that Sylvain _wasn’t_ right. Her face is inches away from his, and she can smell the faint aroma of his favourite tea on her breath. The smell, coupled with the rosiness of her cheeks and the glow of her skin suddenly makes her irresistible. He can taste it when she kisses him. The kiss is searing, and he reaches around her waist to bull her into his lap, her legs immediately wrapping around him as he deepens the kiss. His wife is intoxicating.

The corners of his lips turn up in a smirk when she untucks his shirt. “Don’t you have missives to sign for the Church?” He asks as her hands slip underneath the smooth cotton of his shirt

“This is urgent,” she replies breathlessly between kisses, gasping when he tears the laces holding her dress together. 

He pulls back to look at her, unable to keep the amused expression off his face at this delightful turn of events. “This is urgent?” He laughs as she begins fiddling with his belt buckle. 

“Yes, it’s these stupid pregnancy hormones. They make me so mad at you, but they also make me want to have sex with you all the time,” she huffs, placing a kiss to his jaw. 

Well, Felix definitely isn’t going to complain about that. “I love your stupid hormones.” Byleth only hums against his skin.

There’s a knock at the door, drawing then both out of their steamy reverie. “Your Grace?” At the sound of her advisor’s voice, Byleth sits up straight, halting the heavenly ministrations of her fingers dancing across his skin. “Our guests have arrived.”

Felix leans back to study her face, the disappointment evident with the pout on her lips. “I have an audience with the Western Church,” she whines, her bottom lip beginning to tremble slightly. She sucks in a quivering breath, and Felix sees tears beginning to form in the corner of her eyes. “I have an audience with— with the Western Church,” she repeats with another whimper, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Are you crying?” He asks, brushing away a tear that falls down her cheek. He can’t help but chuckle when she shakes her head, but wonders what’s set her off this time. 

“No,” she sniffs, but more tears begin to flow, and this time he wipes them away with the sleeve of his shirt. “Yes,” she finally admits, her voice cracking. “I cry every time I get mad.” 

“You’re mad?” He confirms, and she nods once, burying her face in his shoulder as Felix begins rubbing soothing circles over her back.

Her hand balls into a fist, gripping the back of his shirt tightly. “Yes, I’m crying because I can’t have sex with you because I have this stupid meeting,” she chokes, as if she were a child being sent to bed without dessert.

Seteth knocks again, this time louder and his voice more impatient. “Your Grace, are you busy? I know you had a few free minutes before the meeting, but I wondered if we could speak privately to make sure we were on the same page before the meeting with the bishops.”

A low, throaty growl suddenly replaces her hiccuping sobs, and Byleth tears herself from Felix’s lap, eyes ablaze as she storms towards the door. “I’m going to kill him,” she mutters. Clutching her dress to her chest with one hand, she throws the door open with the other, revealing Seteth, fist raised to knock again, eyes widening as he takes in the Archbishop’s scandalous state of undress. “I can’t speak with you right now, Seteth,” she snaps impatiently, but Felix is positive that he hears her voice break. She’s about to cry— again. “Because I’m _very_ upset right now, and I just want to screw my husband’s brains out without you _knocking on my door every five seconds!_ ” She slams the door in his stunned face, and when she whirls around, Felix is there to press her up against it, his lips capturing hers in another dizzying kiss.

  
  
  


Byleth is late to the audience, arriving with her hair disheveled and Felix’s cloak covering the tears in her dress. Felix meets up with Sylvain and Ingrid for dinner, a slight skip in his step and an uncharacteristically huge smile on his face.

  
  


__________

  
  


**Second Trimester:**

**_Flutter_ **

Byleth has experienced many things in her life. Many. Growing up a travelling mercenary brought her all around Fódlan, and in each place she’d stopped at, there was always something new. Most of the time, it was job related. Her father would introduce her to a new tactic, or thrust a new weapon into her hands and teach her how to wield it. New skills that were necessary to get the job done and get paid. Sometimes, they were more...domestic. A woman would teach her a new way to season her fish, a young boy would teach her a cute nursery song. No matter how big or small, she’d welcomed it into her arsenal with open arms. 

Byleth had experienced the most, however, when she came to Garreg Mach. 

Being amongst her students was the most mentally-stimulating experience she’d had in her lifetime. It was because of the Academy that she’d first awakened the emotions she held deep within her. With them, she’d experienced ultimate highs. She’d tasted the sweetness of victory after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, relief at the rescue of Flayn, a peaceful serenity with each small tea party. 

Of course, highs came with lows, and she’d hit those too. She’d been ground into rock-bottom, literally and figuratively. She wasn’t just talking about the war. The death of her father had shaken her to her core, and for the first time ever, her life had ground to a near halt. The fall from the cliff where she literally hit rock-bottom…

She didn’t like to talk about that.

But the experiences in the Academy brought her closer to those around her, granting her new experiences in the long time since. With the effect of the war beginning to loosen its grip on them, she’d gotten to laugh more, smile often, dance freely and, fall deeply in love. 

She’d also gotten pregnant. 

That was definitely a new experience, something Byleth had been wholly unprepared for. The nausea had been infuriating, the mood swings confusing, and the dependency on Felix a little embarrassing. Pregnancy was not something she’d been exposed to in her father’s mercenary band. The life of a wandering mercenary simply didn’t accommodate a woman with a rounded belly and _many_ cravings. 

So as a result, Byleth had known little going into this whole experience, making her a little more hesitant. She’d depended on Mercedes’ monthly visits, where she brought new books on pregnancy to add to her personal library (to no one’s surprise, the small library in Castle Fraldarius only held various books on swordplay and tactics). 

As much as she may hate to admit, Byleth had found the little human growing inside of her to be slightly inconvenient during her first trimester. She hated waking with bile already beginning to rise in her throat. She was annoyed by the exhaustion she felt after performing the simplest of tasks, causing her to rise later and retire to bed earlier. The mood swings...oh goddess, the mood swings combined with an arguably emotionally stilted couple? 

She could tell these changes during her first trimester had affected Felix too. How could they not? They’d built up a steady routine together, their days marked by small moments they had together. Sparring, tea, meals, even just sitting and doing paperwork together was a great comfort. 

Her second trimester was easier. _Much_ easier. The nausea had subsided a great deal, she felt less exhausted, and she could tell that her mood was beginning to lift. Felix has grown accustomed to their new reality, finally overcoming his biggest obstacle: accepting that she wasn’t allowed to spar anymore. 

Things were going smoothly. _Too_ smoothly it seemed, and it made Byleth suspicious. Nothing in her life was ever this easy, this perfect. 

She’d been having a fine time at Garreg Mach. Then she’d been thrust into the front lines against the Empire and subsequently thrown off a cliff, putting her to sleep for five years at the bottom of a river.

So when she felt it for the first time, she panicked. Frantically scrambling up into a sitting position, her mind cycled through every worst-case scenario. She pressed one hand over her stomach and used the other to shake her husband awake in the dead of night. 

Ever the light sleeper, Felix immediately rolls out of bed, reaching underneath his side of the mattress to draw a gleaming silver sword. Thoron, who had settled himself between them in bed, lifts his head, alert eyes searching for a threat as he’s jostled out of shia slumber. “What is it?” Felix questions, panic rising as he looks around, eyes landing on her trembling figure. “Byleth?!” 

She’s about to respond when she feels it again, inhaling sharply as she feels another twitch in her abdomen. “Something is wrong,” she whispers, and Felix sets his sword on the nightstand, moving to her side. “Felix— I got too comfortable. I must have done something wrong. I knew that the walk I took today was too long. What if I—”

“Byleth.” Felix repeats firmly, grasping her shoulders. “You’re panicking. Just breathe, okay? Can you do that?” She manages a nod, swallowing thickly before taking a few deep breaths, a steady inhale exhale until the fog in her mind lifts and she can think a little clearer. When she’s relatively calm, he immediately calls for their physician.

The castle physician arrives within minutes. Visits to the Duchess in the odd hours of the night are not uncommon. Byleth is well aware of her hypersensitive nature when it comes to the child she bears. It’s better to be safe than sorry. “What seems to be the matter, your Grace?” 

“It’s the baby,” she says urgently, gripping Felix’s hand tightly. “There’s some kind of flutter.” 

The physician gently places both her hands over Byleth’s stomach, moving them around until there’s another flutter, and Byleth’s anxiety threatens to bubble over. 

Byleth gasps, fear gripping her heart as she prepares to hear the worst. Instead, the physician actually _smiles._ “Oh,” she says softly, removing her hands slowly. “Your Grace, everything is alright,” she assures her, rising from the side of her bed and dusting off her skirt. “In fact, everything is wonderful.” 

“How?” The Duke and Duchess sputter in disbelief, their eyes wide as they await an explanation.

The physician’s smile only widens at their cluelessness. “Your baby is _kicking_.”

The spinning in Byleth’s head screeches to a halt as a cool wave of realization washes over her. Their baby is kicking. “Oh,” she realizes in awe, taking Felix’s hand and placing it over her stomach and waiting.

When the baby kicks again, Felix gasps beside her, his face instantly brightening as the physician steps aside. “You’re about five months pregnant now. Fetal movement at this stage of pregnancy is completely normal and healthy. It may be uncomfortable at first, but you’ll soon be accustomed to your little one’s restlessness.” The physician packs up her things, bidding the couple goodnight before taking her leave.

Felix resumes his post beside her in bed, turning to her with an excited gleam in his eyes. “Do you think they’ll pick up a sword?” He questions gleefully, and Byleth laughs. The concept of their child’s movement seems to have spurred his Faerghan father's imagination, and she knows he’s already picturing running drills amid the freshly fallen snow. He’d told her before, a child of Faerghus learns to wield a weapon before they learn to write their name.

She hadn’t been all that different, she supposed. As the child of a wandering mercenary, she hadn’t needed much more than a weapon and a target. Jeralt had taught her well, and someday, she would teach her own child. 

Byleth settles her back against the headboard. “What if they decide to pick up a lance? Or a bow? Or decide that magic suits them best?” 

Felix seems to contemplate this. As two impeccable swordsmen themselves, it wasn’t a stretch to automatically assume their child would follow in their footsteps. “Then they have access to the three best lance wielders in all of Faerghus,” he says, and Byleth doesn’t have to ask to know he speaks of his three childhood friends, all of which carry Heroes Relics in the form of a lance. “If they want to pick up a bow, I’ll send for Ashe in Brigid. Hells, I’ll even send them to Claude in Almyra. If they want to be a sorcerer, then the School of Sorcery is right there in Fhirdiad.” He reaches over to his nightstand, tucking his sword back underneath the mattress. 

“What matters is that they have a choice,” he continues softly. “If they want to pick up a weapon and fight, then I’ll do my best to accommodate them. I won’t force them to be something they don’t want. I won’t fill their heads with stupid tales of knighthood and chivalry. I won’t hold them to impossible expectations.”

Maybe it’s the fluxing of hormones through her system, or maybe it’s the fact that Felix is already so sweet on their child that has Byleth’s still heart fluttering in her chest. 

“Whatever they choose, they’ll have a wonderful father to guide them,” she says, placing a soft kiss to his bare shoulder. “A wonderful father who loves his wife so much, that he’ll go get some food for her in the middle of the night,” she adds sneakily, her stomach demanding it be fed. 

“What do you want this time?” He grumbles, but she can hear the smile on his face as he slides out of bed. Thoron follows, no doubt intending to scream until Felix drops some leftover trout in his bowl. “Something sweet? Spicy? Who am I kidding, it’s probably both.” 

Byleth can barely hold back her mirth at the fact that Felix has just described himself. The perfect amount of spice, made absolute perfection with a pinch of sweetness. “It is,” she decides without hesitation. 

  
  


__________

  
  
  


**Third Trimester:**

**_A Gift_ **

  
  


Felix has seen many battles. Some were small, simple missions to route thieves disrupting trade routes, bandits disrupting a village, rogues causing trouble for the Church. 

Some were big, namely during his time on the front lines of the war. The chaotic first assault on the Church of Seiros, the scorching ambush at Ailell, the bloody three-way battle at Gronder. 

He’d seen many battles now, surpassing the number his brother had seen and likely creeping up on the number his father had. He’d never in a million years thought he would be anything other than a warrior, a killer made to hold nothing but a silver blade in his hands. 

But here he sat in front of the fireplace, holding not a sword, but a baby. 

“He’s quite soft,” Byleth had observed when she’d breastfed him for the first time. “Perhaps he should be fitted for some armour.” Felix, upon doing some squishing of his own, had put in the request right away. 

Byleth’s labour and delivery had been a battle in itself, a campaign that had his heart racing and chest heaving as she gritted her teeth and gripped his hand. She’d yelled and swore, groaned in pain and huffed in frustration until finally, after eighteen hours of labour and almost an hour of pushing, their son’s cries echoed throughout the castle halls. Their son, like a true Faerghan, is born on a frigid night on the 13th of the Ethereal Moon. 

His son is a small thing, barely seven pounds with a full head of dark hair resembling his own, blue eyes identical to Byleth before her transformation. 

He hears the door creak open softly, and reluctantly lifts his gaze from the infant in his arms to the door. Mercedes, who’d delivered their baby just hours before, pokes her head in. “Felix?”

“Hm?” He can’t even pretend to be annoyed at the intrusion. “Keep your voice down,” he reminds her, nodding his head to the bed, where Byleth dozes lightly. 

“Sorry,” she apologizes, opening the door wider. “You have visitors.” Felix peers behind her, expecting to see Sylvain, but instead sees Dimitri and Marianne in the doorway.

Byleth would tell him to invite their king and queen in, so he does that. “You didn’t have to come,” he says when he waves them in. “We know you’re busy.”

“Well,” Dimitri shrugs, a disgustingly sweet smile on his face, “I wasn’t _that_ busy, and what sort of king would I be if I didn’t offer my most heartfelt congratulations to two of my most cherished advisors and friends in person?” 

“Also,” Marianne adds beside him, “we wanted Elle to meet her first friend.” Her and Dimitri daughter, a little girl of six months with light blue hair similar to her mother’s wriggles at the mention of her name. “How is her Grace doing?” 

Behind him, Byleth stirs, and Felix turns to see her tired eyes gazing up at them. “Tired,” she answers, but the weary smile on her face grows when she sets her gaze on the small bundle in Felix’s arms. “But so incredibly happy. Did you tell them what your son’s name is?” 

“Glenn,” he announces, looking Dimitri in the eye. “Glenn Reus Eisner-Fraldarius.”

The smile on the king’s face fades slightly. “I think he would be pleased, truly. And it makes this gift for him—” he procures a silver sword from the sheath on his side, presenting it to Felix, “all the more special.” 

“What is this?” Felix questions, trained eyes analyzing the shining silver before resting on the Crest of Fraldarius engraved at the hilt. 

“I had it specially made,” Dimitri explains, running a hand over the broadsword with a gentleness that Felix still wasn’t quite used to. “It’s forged from the silver of—” he pauses, and Marianne’s free hand reaches up to touch his shoulder, and Dimitri clears his throat. “From the silver of Glenn’s sword, and Rodrigue’s lance.” 

The blood rushes to Felix’s head at the mention of his brother and father, and if not for the warmth of his son in his arms, he would have surely reverted back into the man he once was. Angry, full of hurt, and cold. 

When he opens his mouth to reply, his throat suddenly feels parched, the words coming up like sandpaper. “You had them all this time?” He croaks, and he hears the bed shift behind him, feels Byleth’s hand softly rubbing circles on his back. 

In this moment Dimitri looks small, his figure, usually tall and proud, shrinking under the questioning gaze of the Duke. “I did, yes. I always meant to return them to you but…” he trails off with a timid wave of his hand. 

He’s right. Back then, Felix wouldn’t have accepted such items with open arms. They were just weapons, much like his family had been shields. Family wasn’t a thing he had cherished much then, but now, starting one of his own, he understood how important it was to keep close the things— and the people he held dear. Accepting this sword was the beginning. “Thank you. Really,” he nods, and Dimitri gives him a solemn bow.

He gently transfers Glenn into Byleth’s arms, and accepts the sword gratefully. He tests its weight, turning it over in his hand a few times as he studies the fine craftsmanship only royalty commissioned blacksmiths could forge. Though it’s considerably lighter than the average silver sword, it’s heavier than his son. Oddly enough, he finds that the grip is comfortable, but doesn’t make him feel as secure as the feel of Byleth’s hand in his. 

He would never tell her that though.

  
  


__________

  
  


**ONE YEAR LATER**

**_Home_ **

  
  


“He’s turning one and he doesn’t even know it’s his birthday. Do we really need this many decorations?” Felix mutters, pushing aside another array of teal streamers dangling from the doorframe.

Byleth sighs loudly, dramatically, as she rearranges the bouquet of flowers adorning the dining table, balancing a snoozing Glenn on her hip. A dribble of drool leaks from the corner of his mouth and onto her shoulder, but she hardly notices. “Your son is turning one, and all our friends are coming out here to celebrate with us. If you think about it, this party is more for us than him. When was the last time we were all together?” 

Felix opens his mouth to argue. Surely it hadn’t been that long ago. There was Elle’s first birthday...almost six months ago, and Ashe hadn’t been in attendance, helping Petra in Brigid. There was the birth of Astrid, Ingrid and Sylvain’s daughter, three months ago, but Dimitri had been in Almyra striking up new trade deals with Claude. Birthdays of their friends had come and gone, but it was nearly impossible to herd all their friends in a single territory at a predetermined time. “Okay, maybe it’s been a while,” he admits, reaching for a piece of freshly braised beef that’s set on the table in front of him, his mouth watering at the smell.

Byleth smacks his hand and he pulls it back immediately, pouting up at her. “No eating until everyone gets here,” she scolds, and Glenn stirs just long enough to mumble his favourite words as of late, “no, dada,” he mumbles when Byleth turns back to the flowers. 

Felix scoffs lightly, but can’t help the smile creeping onto his lips. Traitor.

Soon enough, the castle is filled with the laughter and life of their friends. A warm glow emits from the heart of Castle Fraldarius, a stark contrast from its stone exterior, which has been long weathered by ice and snow.

For a long time, Felix had hated his home. He hated the paintings of the dead haunting its walls, first his mother, followed by his brother and the late king. He despised its cold hallways, laid thick with still silences as he and his father danced around each other until finally the old man himself had been laid to rest in the family plot. It simply wasn’t _home_. It was the hollow shell of a life that wasn’t. The mighty House Fraldarius, the highest ranking members of the Faerghus nobility, reduced to a sole grouchy heir with an attitude problem and arguably self-destructive behaviour.

But now, filled to the brim with hearty laughter and enthusiastic story telling, the air in the once drab castle is wholly different. At the head of the table with the birthday boy stretched out in his lap, Felix looks around at the steady companions he would begrudgingly admit have become his family. 

Occupying the dessert table, Mercedes and Annette’s tittering giggles float around the room as they sample pastries, Dedue balancing plates of sweets in his hands. On the opposite end of the table, Ashe watches as Petra plays a game of peek-a-boo with the Faerghan princess, her gleeful squeals bring a small smile to Marianne’s face as she looks on. 

Sylvain occupies a chaise, cradling a sleeping Astrid to his chest as Ingrid feeds him bites of cake, the two of them holding such a loving gaze that it makes even Felix feel warm inside. Dimitri and Byleth chat quietly in the chairs to his right, and Felix can tell from the wrinkles around their eyes that they’re both beyond happy.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Dimitri announces suddenly, rising from his seat and holding his glass in the air. Their friends turn their attention to the king, raising their own glasses as he turns to Felix. Sensing the shift in attention, Glenn stirs in Felix’s lap, his little fists pushing against Felix’s chest as he cranes his head, big blue eyes scanning the room. “To Glenn,” he starts, and his son perks at the drop of his name. “May you someday rise to the challenge of carving your own path, and use the guiding light set ablaze for you by your parents.” 

“To Glenn,” everyone repeats, Felix realizes that for the first time, the toast isn’t to honour his brother. It’s to honour his son, the only person Felix had taken a liking to from the very beginning. He adored his squishy cheeks and cute, toothy smile. He revelled in the way Glenn watched, sitting in his nanny’s lap, toy sword in his mouth, as he and Byleth sparred (even if he only clapped when mama got dada to yield). So, out of love for his son, he allows himself a single sip of the sickly sweet and bubbly champagne. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices that Byleth doesn’t, instead opting to sip from her glass of water. 

Sylvain notices too, but decides to call her out on it. “Hey, drink up, mom,” he teases, trying hard not to jostle his sleeping daughter. “Come on, let loose a little! Only seventeen more years until he’s out of your hair!”

Byleth shakes her head. “I...can’t,” is all she says, nervously chewing on her bottom lip. Felix shoots her a concerned glance. He swears he hears Mercedes giggle.

He leans closer to her, and Glenn reaches for his mama. “Is everything okay?” He asks as she takes their son into her arms, bouncing him a few times before placing a soft kiss to his forehead. 

Before she can reply, Ingrid is offering her an overfilled glass, but she again refuses. Felix is beginning to grow concerned— it isn’t like her to turn down a drink or two at a party, no matter the event. “I can’t,” she repeats, a slow smile spreading across her lips. “I can’t, because I’m pregnant.”

The room is silent, the only sounds Felix hears are elated gasps and quiet laughter from who he’s now _sure_ is Mercedes. She probably already knew. 

Just like that, congratulations are in order, and Dimitri, who Felix guesses is probably a little drunk at this point, proposes another toast to the ever growing House Fraldarius. 

Felix reaches out placing his hand over hers. “Are you...are you really?” 

“Yes,” she confirms with a nod. “I just found out last week. Can you believe it? Another baby!” 

He doesn’t say anything, simply wrapping moving behind his chair to wrap his arms around his wife and son. 

And just like that, Felix knows the true answer to the question Byleth had asked him all those years ago. Why he’d trained so hard to grow stronger. It was not only in the hopes of surpassing her and his brother, but also to _live._ That was what he had recently come to understand. But life was more about just surviving. It was about living. 

It was about appreciating the smooth, rich wine drank in the company of his friends, the rush of adrenaline he’d feel when sparring with his wife, the sound of his son’s feet pattering behind him through the once silent halls.

But most importantly, living was about love. It was a concept that, since the death of his brother, he had closed himself off from. He realized now, that it wasn’t out of anger, but out of fear and hurt. Fear of losing and the hurt that inevitably followed. 

As another round of congratulations are passed their way, Byleth accepts each one with a smile and an excited squeeze of his hand as Glenn babbles. 

Felix had always wondered why, of all the battles he’d seen, big and small, he’d survived while his brother and father hadn’t. Why he was here, while his family had passed on much too early.

He was here to live and honour his fallen family. To be loved by his wife, son, and friends. Ultimately, after so much hurt, he was here to finally love in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain: It seems that love is in the air!  
> Felix: Yeah, and it's the dead of winter so the flu is too.


	4. Slice of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family fluff, with Felix being protective of his daughter.

**Rest & Respite**

Since the day she’d met him in the halls of Garreg Mach, Byleth had known Felix to be anything but soft. It was the last word she, or anyone else brave enough to form an opinion, would use to describe him. His first words to her had been about sparring and defeating her, after all. The promise he’d made with her at the Goddess Tower had been to someday surpass her strength. Oh, how Sothis had laughed…

His hands were those of a highly skilled swordsman, built for blades, blood, battle, and nothing else. They were hands that tossed swords at her in the training hall, challenging her to a duel. Hands that roughly yanked her from the path of an oncoming arrow. Hands that cast wicked bolts of thunder on unsuspecting enemies approaching her flank. 

It was as if the Felix she knew then and the Felix she had come to love were two completely different people. Behind the snarky remarks and rigorous training effort, was a kind and gentle man. _Her Felix_ was different. Her Felix, she’d realized over the years, was soft.

Byleth feels the mattress dip behind her, followed by a soft sigh. She keeps her eyes closed, but can’t resist the tug on the corner of her lips when she feels his hand, strong and callused, run over the smooth satin of her nightgown, coming to a rest on her hip. 

“Time to wake up,” he whispers, the hand on her hip travelling to her neck, brushing aside a few strands of hair. She feels his lips plant three soft kisses down the exposed skin of her neck, causing her to shudder slightly at the gentleness of his touch. “Ah, I knew you were awake,” he teases, arms sneaking around her waist to hold her tightly.

“Mmhm,” she hums, twisting herself around in his arms to face him. “When did you get home from Fhirdiad?” 

“Just now,” he answers, leaning in for a kiss.

Before his lips can meet hers, she grabs the sides of his face, and she takes in the sight of the dark circles underneath his tired eyes. “You didn’t ride through the night again, did you?” 

“I was almost home, why bother to stop and sleep on a bedroll when I have a perfectly good bed and an even better companion to share it with waiting for me?”

Byleth rolls her eyes. “Even if you’re close, stop to rest your men and horses.”

Felix groans, and suddenly his forehead knocks against her collarbone as he buries his face into her chest. “Felix,” she chides lightly, her fingers sliding through his hair, somehow still silky despite the layer of sweat she’s sure has accumulated. “Glenn and Sitri will be up soon. I promised I would take them fishing.”

“It’s still early,” he murmurs, brushing kisses along her chest. “We might have a bit of time to… you know.” The kissing turns to nipping, and it isn’t long before the nipping turns to suckling, and by the goddess if it hadn’t been nearly a month since she’d seen him last…

“Oh, alright,” she concedes with a quiet giggle, gasping when he rolls her over onto her back, his hands digging into the pillow on both sides of her head, his face hovering inches from her own. “Felix!”

“I missed you and the children,” he says, one hand already sliding the thin strap of her nightgown over her shoulder, placing a searing kiss to an old scar adorning her pale flesh. “Having to leave for Fhirdiad the day you get back from Garreg Mach… absolutely ridiculous,” he mutters, dipping down for a kiss. She lets her eyes begin to flutter shut again as she melts into him. His touch is pure bliss, the warmth from his fingers blooming across her skin, a quiet moan slipping past her lips as his hand travels lower and lower, travelling up past the hem of her nightgown. “Discussing politics with Dimitri and Sylvain was insufferable, as usual. Picturing you waiting for me here like this...it was the only thing getting me through.”

Byleth’s half-lidded eyes shoot open at the mention of the king. “Did you and Sylvain bring up the Sreng deal with Dimitri?”

Felix pauses, leaning back to look at her with a slight frown. “My hand is currently down your underwear, do you really want to talk about the king and the margrave _now?_ ” Byleth shoots him a look, silently telling him that if he doesn’t answer, his hand is as far as they’ll get. 

He doesn’t get the chance to answer though, because the doors to their chambers are thrown wide open. They both sit up immediately, Felix barely having time to throw a blanket over her when they squeal. 

“Father!” Glenn yells excitedly, rushing across the room and leaping onto the bed, crawling into Felix’s lap. The force of the tackle from the five year old knocks Felix onto his back, his head resting in Byleth’s lap. He grunts at the sudden impact, but reaches down to carefully ruffle their son’s hair.

“Daddy!” Sitri screams next, their daughter hot on her brother’s heels. She somehow launches herself up onto the bed, scrambling up to wrap her little arms around Felix’s neck. “I missed you,” she murmurs into his chest, hazel eyes gazing at him with all the love in the world.

“I’m sorry,” their nanny apologizes profusely from the door. “They saw your things being brought in, and they just—”

“It’s alright,” Felix dismisses. “You’re relieved from your duties for the day.” When she rushes off, Felix wraps an arm around Sitri, and with a little push from Byleth, manages to maneuver himself around so he’s leaning against the headboard of their bed, both children clinging to him. “Have you been good for your mother?” He asks, both Glenn and Sitri nodding solemnly. “Hm. Is that right, _my love?_ ”

A blush blooms across Byleth’s cheeks at the pet name as Glenn groans. Oh, how she’d missed her husband. “They were good, _darling_ ,” she assures him, her smile growing when his cheeks flush. 

“Well,” he continues when the blush fades, looking down at their children. “I hear we’re going fishing today. Good thing I’m here, because do you know what I heard on the way home?” His voice has lowered to an urgent whisper.

“What?” Glenn and Sitri ask, eyes wide, looking between their parents. Byleth finds herself slightly drawn in as well. She has no idea what he’d heard.

“I heard…that there’s been a giant wolf spotted in the woods near the castle.” A sneaky grin plays on his lips, and Byleth relaxes, knowing exactly what’s happening. 

Her children, however, are none the wiser. Sitri gasps loudly, clambering into Byleth’s lap and gripping the front of her nightdress tightly. “A giant wolf?” 

Her brother looks unfazed at the prospect of a giant animal prowling around their home. “Mother can handle it for sure,” Glenn announces surely. “Uncle Sylvain said she once fought off two wolves at once in Zanado!” 

Felix chuckles, and they exchange a look as they’re both hit with a wave of nostalgia from the academy days. “Well, this wolf is smarter than those wolves,” he tells them, “in fact...he’s already in the castle,” Felix growls. 

One beat of silence. Then two. Realization sets in when Glenn frantically tries to wiggle out of Felix’s grasp, and Sitri screams gleefully, burying herself under the covers. 

“He’s going to get you!” Felix cries, the sound of the children’s laughter filling the room as he mercilessly tickles them. Byleth moves to the opposite end of the bed, watching as both children offer half-hearted, breathless protests as their father playfully pounces on them. 

“Mama!” Sitri squeals in delight when she finally escapes Felix’s relentless attacks. “Mama! Stop the wolf!” 

“Your Mama isn’t safe either, Sitri,” Felix smirks, and before Byleth can even move, Felix grabs her ankle, dragging her towards him. “There’s no way she could defeat this wolf!” 

Byleth holds back the blast of magic she surely would have fired at him if her children weren’t in bed. She writhes around as Felix assaults her sides with tickles, even hitting the sensitive spots behind her knees. When she’s laughing so hard that tears blur her vision, Glenn and Sitri leap onto Felix’s back in an attempt to help her, trying to tug the big bad wolf back. 

Felix finally relents, flopping back onto the bed with a defeated sigh, his cheeks flushed from the effort. “You guys are just too good,” he groans dramatically.

From his protective perch in front of Byleth, Glenn puffs his chest out, and Sitri sits directly in Felix’s chest, grinning triumphantly. “Now we can go fishing!” 

Byleth and Felix exchange a look, and when she sees his tired smile, she lays down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. “In a minute, little loves. Your father needs a nap. Now, come here you two. Give your father a proper welcome.” 

  
  
  


Castle Fraldarius is oddly silent. So silent, that the nanny of the little lord and lady is slightly concerned about their whereabouts. So noiseless, that housekeeper wonders why the Duchess hasn’t yet come to hear the changes in the daily menu. So quiet, that the steward wonders why he hasn’t heard the Duke complain about the pile of missives that had accumulated on his desk over his two week absence. Alfred has been in service since the early days of Lord Rodrigue’s rule, and had helped Lord Felix grow into the role of his late father. Since then, he’d yet to see a day where His Grace _didn’t_ complain about paperwork. 

Now that the day had arrived, however, Alfred was mildly concerned. 

The three heads of staff head straight to where the family was last seen, finding the door to the Duke and Duchess’ chambers slightly ajar. They push the door open, just wide enough for them to peek through. 

Tangled up in the mix of blankets and quilts lay Duke Fraldarius, still dressed in his travelling clothes, his hair disheveled upon the pillow beneath his head. Dozing across his chest lay little Lady Sitri, and curled under his left arm lay little Lord Glenn, who was reaching across his father’s torso to clutch the Duchess’ hand as she napped against her husband's right shoulder. Alfred can’t help but smile. It’s a touching scene.

Beside Alfred, the nanny and housekeeper coo quietly, and he shuts the door, leading them away. He’ll leave them for now, Alfred decides. They can afford to rest for a few more hours. 

It’s just nice to see that after so much pain, House Fraldarius can finally know peace again. 

  
  
  


__________

  
  
  


**_Glenn_ **

  
  


From the moment she’d cradled his body, small and fragile, to her chest, Byleth had felt a deep love for her son. A love that only a parent could feel for their child, something so entirely consuming and comforting and warm. That day, they’d forged a bond that ran so deep it could never be severed. She _knew_ him. Carried him within her for nine months and gave him life. Her, the Ashen Demon, giving life instead of taking it. 

Her love for him only grew over the years. There were no words to describe the immense pride she felt at witnessing his milestones. Her heart, cold and unbeating, had melted the day he’d babbled his first word, ‘Mama.’ She’d never smiled so wide, seeing the first steps he’d taken in the halls of the monastery after escaping from Seteth, trying to chase after her on stubby legs. The first time he’d trained with her and Felix, so fierce and determined that he only stopped to rest when he could no longer lift his sword. 

The boy was the spitting image of his father, same dark hair, lithe build, a stance favouring his right leg. Even the way he rolled his blue eyes was reminiscent of Felix during his academy days. But Glenn, to everyone’s surprise, was a perfect mix of his father and mother. 

With his mother’s blank, secretly analytical stare, and his father’s sharp tongue, Glenn was a force to be reckoned with. The little boy who used to cling to his mother’s skirts had grown into a fine young man, admired by many for the calm air of confidence he exuded. Whether he was supporting his mother at Garreg Mach, or accompanying his father in Fhirdiad, their son was immediately welcomed by those around him. At the monastery, she often found him deep in conversation with Seteth, speaking of anything from the fish to be found in the pond this season, or the latest gambits the Knights of Seiros had been running. In Fhirdiad, he was almost always seen with King Dimitri, spoiled rotten by his godfather with the finest weaponry, or indulging on a quiet horse ride through the snowy plains. 

No bond, however, could compare to the one Glenn shared with Byleth. Where she went, her son followed. Like his father, he was fiercely protective of his mother, though they both knew she was highly capable of safeguarding her own wellbeing. Byleth thought it was quite endearing. 

Now, at seventeen years old, Byleth still doted on him, much to Felix’s amusement. Coddled him in bed when he ran the slightest fever, paused training to wipe dirt from his brow, or cast a quick heal to give him the strength to at least come one step closer to disarming Felix. She shared tea with him after each training session, going over strengths and weaknesses, offering praise and quick fixes. 

In Faerghus, knowledge on the military arts is highly valued, and children are taught to wield weapons at early ages. As a result, the level of strength and skill amongst Faerghan soldiers went unparalleled in Fódlan. When Sitri had come of age to begin formal training, she’d made a shocking decision, opting to pick up a lance rather than a sword, determined to become a master class Falcon Knight like the Hero Fraldarius. 

Glenn, who had always been completely captivated with watching his parents spar, had decided to stick to the sword.

That was what Felix and Glenn bonded over. Even though they lived in a time of relative peace, both father and son trained tirelessly to grow stronger. Even when Glenn was young, the games he played with Felix could be seen as some type of training. 

Glenn held his sword like Byleth, but favoured the traditional Fraldarius sword technique, utilizing clean, devastating single strikes to incapacitate his foes. Nimble and quick on his feet, he was the very image of a Fraldarius knight. Felix had mixed feelings about that, but Byleth had always been quick to ease his mind, assuring him that their son was different. This Glenn was _theirs,_ and they had raised him in different times, where kings weren’t slaughtered and peace prevailed. 

Sometimes when Byleth and Glenn took their tea, the conversation drifted to topics outside the realm of training. Most times they were simple, which teas would best compliment this pastry, what flowers was she growing in the greenhouse? Other times they were personal, questions about her father and Felix’s, questions about their time in the war. Questions that, if anyone else had asked, she would never have answered. 

With the annual Midwinter Ball coming up, her children, specifically Sitri, were bubbling with excitement. Seeking their mother out for help because their father was notoriously bad at these types of things. Even now, the frivolity of parties he was forced to attend annoyed him more than anything. Because of that, today’s question from Glenn was completely new.

“Mother? Can you teach me how to dance?” 

Byleth sets down her cup. “You already know how to dance,” she reminds him. His governess had taught him and Sitri at a young age. 

Glenn stares down at his cup of tea, his cheeks tinged pink. “Yes, but it’s my first time dancing with...with Astrid,” he mumbles quietly.

She tries and fails to hide her knowing smile at her son’s embarrassment at the mention of Ingrid and Sylvain’s eldest daughter. Glenn's recent infatuation with the Gautier girl was a hot topic within their friends as of late. Sylvain certainly had a lot to say about Felix's son courting his daughter. “You’ve danced with Astrid plenty of times.” 

“It’s different this time,” he insists, his face somehow turning an even deeper shade of red. “I— you know,” he mutters, avoiding her amused gaze. “I just...I don’t want to mess up.” 

“Even so, I’m the wrong person to ask for this type of thing,” she sighs. She was by no means the most gracious dancer. Her movements off the battlefield were anything but graceful. Even at their wedding, she’d stepped on Felix’s toes, gotten directions and timing wrong. Even now, nothing had changed. She was an overall disaster on the dance floor.

Glenn frowns slightly, blinking at her. “You taught Father how to dance,” he argues. “For the White Heron Cup. He even won! _Father_ winning a dance competition.” 

She had to admit, she hadn’t expected him to win either, but he had. The art of dance, in a way, was similar to that of swordsmanship. One had to be lithe in their movements, the ebb and flow of the steps like footwork, dancing around enemies to reach a desired end. Once he’d understood that, mastered it, and wowed even Shamir, Byleth had known that the Blue Lions House were going to sweep every competition, on and off the battlefield.

Which they had.

But her son looks at her with those eyes of his, and Glenn never asks for much, so Byleth, as always, folds. “I suppose I might still remember a thing or two,” she shrugs, rising from her seat and walking arm in arm with him to the training grounds. 

She starts with a simple waltz, an easy but elegant dance that most nobles, including herself, were comfortable with. He’s a natural, of course. Like his father, his movements are swift and confident, and when she tells him so, he graces her with a rare smile.

Genuine smiles from Glenn were rare. They were a gift that Byleth treasured dearly, causing warmth to bloom in her chest. It was the same feeling she’d get when Sitri, ever the reluctant teen, hugged her. 

Seeing her children’s happiness, it made her finally realize what her father must have felt when she had first shown him her own.

  
  


__________

**_Sitri_ **

  
  


It was impossible to say no to Sitri Ilse Eisner-Fraldarius. 

While Glenn has inherited his mother‘s quiet taciturn and a healthy dose of Felix’s wit, Sitri had grown to be somewhat of an opposite. Bold and gregarious, she was a charmer and she knew it. Since the moment she was born, the little Lady Eisner-Fraldarius had won over the hearts of nearly everyone she came in contact with. It’d been a while since House Fraldarius had welcomed a girl, after all.

While Glenn seldom smiled, Sitri handed hers out like favours. With a heartwarming smile, the baker would sneak her treats before dinner, the gardener would happily weave crowns of wildflowers at her behest, even their no-nonsense steward Alfred would pause his duties to play a game of hide-and-seek with her. 

Byleth knew that it wasn’t just the staff. It was their friends, too. Business trips to Fhirdiad or Garreg Mach meant that Sitri would see her aunts and uncles, all of them, (namely Uncles Claude and Sylvain), were frequent guests at her famed tea parties.

No one, however, was more enamoured by their daughter than Felix himself. He coddled their daughter the way Byleth did their son. Felix Hugo Fraldarius, known for utterly tearing his friends apart with his sarcastic remarks and sharp tongue, brought to his knees by a little girl. Whenever she cried, he was there, scooping her up and kissing it better. He was there for the father-daughter dances at balls and galas, letting her dance on his toes until she was old enough for him to waltz her around on the dance floor, laughing and giggling with each dip. He was the guest of honour at every tea party, the recipient of bright flower crowns, the enthusiastic taste tester of her cookies and overly sweet cakes.

But Midwinter was a trying time. It always was, and this year, tensions were threatening to boil over.

“No.” 

Byleth is sure that this is the first time she’d ever heard Felix utter the word to their daughter. It’s a well known fact that Sitri is her father’s girl, the two are attached at the hip the way Byleth and Glenn are. 

Her bottom lip juts out, her big, hazel eyes already beginning to glisten with practiced tears. “ _Daddy_ , please—” Byleth raises her brow slightly. Sitri only calls her father that when she _wants_ something. The name never fails to tug on Felix’s heartstrings, oftentimes coaxing him into a more malleable state. 

But not this time. “I said _no_ , Sitri,” he repeats firmly, his tone final and dismissive. 

Defeated by her father’s stern tone and demeanour, Sitri turns to Byleth, silently pleading with her mother for assistance.

“Felix, it’s just Midwinter, she needs an escort,” she tries. “I’m sure one night out with him wouldn’t hurt.” 

The pained look on his face tells her that yes, it absolutely would. 

“It’s with Sylvain’s son,” he reminds her, the mention of his closest friend accompanied by a look of distaste. “Never in a million years would I let a Gautier take my child to a party.” She understands his hesitance. Sylvain was a known philanderer, even in his youth, his...antics lasting well throughout their year at the academy. She couldn’t even count the amount of times she’d caught him sneaking women in and out of his room, or caught him holed up with someone in restricted areas of the monastery. Until he had finally come to his senses and settled down with Ingrid, that was.

“But you’re letting Glenn go with Astrid! She’s a Gautier!”

“The only thing ‘Gautier’ about Astrid is her hair and her last name. Everything else is Galatea,” Felix snaps with equal impatience. “Why can’t you go with Christophe instead? He’s a prince. Ashe and Petra would be delighted, and the relations between Fódlan and Brigid would look stronger than ever.”

“Don’t bring politics into this,” Sitri huffs as her and Felix exchange an identical glare that threatens to freeze the room over.

“Mikael is also part Galatea. He isn’t entirely like his father, especially not with two sisters to keep him in check.” Byleth points out, but across the table, Glenn, a close friend of Mikael’s, scoffs disbelievingly as Sitri diverts her glare his way, undoubtedly preparing to kick him in the shin. 

“Even if that were true,” Felix begins dryly, rubbing his temples in exasperation, “she’s sixteen,” he says as if the teen isn’t at the table with them. “Why does she need a date at all, and why him?” 

“Because I love him!” Sitri blurts out, face so solemnly serious that Byleth _almost_ believes her. Felix chokes on his sip of wine, Glenn stifles a laugh behind his own cup, and Byleth sighs deeply. 

Just _one_ peaceful dinner, Sothis. 

“You do not love him,” Felix deadpans. “You’re still a child who thinks she can make decisions on who she wants to be with forever, but in reality you’re just a fool acting on impulse and not thinking through your actions.”

“Felix,” Byleth warns, her voice low. He ignores her, eyes still narrowed at their daughter.

“I am not a child!” Sitri groans loudly, stomping her foot in a childlike manner. “And I do _not_ act on impulses. Name one time I’ve ever done that.” 

Ah, the rebellious teenager phase. Byleth is sure she must have gotten it from Felix. 

Felix rolls his eyes. “Oh, I can give you a whole list of times. Would you like it sorted alphabetically or by date?” 

“What?” Sitri’s eyes are wide as saucers, and Glenn sucks in a breath. 

“Felix, a word?” Byleth says forcefully, grabbing his wrist and dragging him out of the dining room. “What are you doing?” She whispers harshly as soon as the doors shut behind him. 

“Stopping our daughter from having her heart broken!” He responds, as if the answer were obvious. “Mikael is just like Sylvain, and if that kid hurts my little girl—”

“Felix, you can’t shield her forever. She has to learn,” Byleth cuts in. “I know you want to protect her, I do too, but she isn’t made of glass.” 

“But—”

Byleth squeezes his hand in both of hers. “She can take care of herself, you know. We taught her ourselves.” 

Felix still doesn’t look quite convinced. “Yes, but she’s at, you know, _that_ age.” Byleth raises a brow, not quite understanding what he’s getting at.

“Where she gets all interested in boys. They’ll be crawling all over the ball,” he huffs in disgust, as if he isn’t a male specimen himself. 

“Sitri isn’t like that,” Byleth scolds, swatting his arm. “She’s a good girl, Felix. She knows what she wants, and if you don’t let her go out there and make some mistakes, she’ll never be able to find it.” 

Felix looks about ready to pull his hair out. “I— You— you’re right,” he groans in defeat, slumping back against the wall. “I guess she’s really growing up, hey?” He chuckles softly, and Byleth detects the quiet sadness in his eyes when he says so.

Byleth stands beside him, their shoulders brushing. “They both are. You need to let them. They’ll be going off to the Officer’s Academy next year, you won’t be there to protect them from every individual who breaks their heart.”

He nudges her gently. “That’s because you’ll be there to do it.”

“Cooped up with Seteth in the audience chamber.” 

“Still. Closer than Fraldarius.”

Byleth turns her head and presses a kiss to his cheek. “You’re quite dramatic, you know? Now get in there and talk to your daughter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next - The Eisner-Fraldarius children hit the ball (under Duke Fraldarius' watchful eye)


	5. A Father’s Intuition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three fathers and their thoughts about their children at three parties.

**Imperial Year 1180**

**_24th Day of the Ethereal Moon_ **

  
  


Jeralt disliked parties. 

By now, he couldn’t even count the amount of nights he’d spent overseeing security as a knight of the Kingdom and eventually the Church. Like it or not, he was an old man now. One with a very low level of patience for drunken noble brats and an even lower tolerance for the noisy ones. He’d had his fill of balls and galas when he was younger, and made enough memories to last a lifetime. He’d met Sitri at one, after all. 

He’d been lucky enough to avoid such parties for the last 21 years. The life of a travelling mercenary wasn’t a glamorous one, but it granted him the freedom to do as he pleased during their rare down time between jobs. 

Down time usually consisted of drinking whatever cheap whiskey filled his flask. It involved he and his daughter sitting idly on the dock of whatever river or lake they found themselves near to fish. That was enough for Jeralt, especially once he deemed Byleth old enough to drink with him.

Usually, as Captain of the Knights of Seiros, that meant Jeralt would be on duty throughout the ball. As a professor, Byleth would be expected to chaperone, make sure those noble twits kept their hands to themselves. 

But no, Lady Rhea told them both to take the night off to quote unquote _bond_. Jeralt recognized the silent order. 

_Talk to your daughter or I will._

With the new free slot they had, he planned to take her fishing before their next mission. It was time they’d talked about why they left the monastery, why her mother was dead, and why she should absolutely not trust their boss, Lady Rhea.

Then something unexpected happened the morning of.

He’d called her into his office to discuss their outing. She’d looked down at her shuffling feet, and in a very quiet, shy voice, said she wanted to go to the ball.

Jeralt could only blink at her.

Byleth. She wanted to go to the ball.

His daughter, Byleth. 

Any coherent thought he could form was stuck in his throat as he wondered _why._

Did she even know how to dance? Of course she must, that grumpy looking brat she taught had won the White Heron Cup under her tutelage.

Thoughts swirled around haphazardly in his brain. If he didn’t know her better, he’d think this was completely normal. She’d never been to a ball before, and wanted to see what all the fuss was about. 

But this was _Byleth_. 

She’d never cared much for frivolities, she kept to herself, and she _never_ said no to fishing for no reason.

Maybe her students had encouraged her to go.

Maybe she’d been asked on a date. 

He hoped she didn’t catch the way he shuddered at the thought. Jeralt didn’t want to think about _that,_ but he couldn’t deny that it was a possibility. She was an adult, and she probably thought about adult things. 

Sure, he’d known this day was coming, but it didn’t mean he looked forward to it. He dreaded it. He’d known Byleth was popular amongst the student population at the monastery. She was basically their peer, only a few years older than most of her students. Students from the Alliance and Empire had flocked to the Blue Lion House to study under her.

“Byleth,” he finds himself saying suddenly, and her head snapped up from the book she’d taken from his shelf. “I need...to talk to you.”

She blinked up at him, her face so innocently curious. “About what?”

”About adult stuff.” Man, he wished Sitri were here to tell him how to do this.

Byleth didn’t say anything, simply tilting her head as she studied his face. “Would this ‘adult stuff’ be on the topic of sexual relations?” 

Jeralt fixed his gaze on the wall behind her and wondered how much force it would take to ram his head into it. “Um...yes?” 

“Dad,” she exhaled, and he could sense the hesitation in her tone. “You don’t have to…I gave this talk to my students already. I know what goes where, that protection is a must, and that no means no.” 

Jeralt leaned back in his chair. “Okay. Well that saves me—wait, who gave _you_ the talk?”

“Manuela during the last faculty bar night she organized,” she shrugged. “Dad, are you okay? You look somewhat disturbed.”

Of course he was disturbed, how could he not be? _Manuela_ _Casagranda_ gave his daughter the sex talk. Hells, he would have preferred Seteth. “Why did she tell you?”

“I’ve fielded too many complaints from female students about Sylvain and Lorenz,” she frowned, “I asked Seteth what to do, and he suggested a sexual harassment seminar and a sexual education lesson. Manuela was the only one confident enough to explain it to me.”

“What did you think about what she told you?”

Byleth simply shrugged again, not saying anything.

Her silence was suspicious, but he feared the answer may be the one thing to kill him in his hundred plus years of life.

“Noted,” he hums, squinting down the bridge of his nose at her. “So, why do you want to go to this ball?” 

Her cheeks are tinged pink as she shrugs yet again. His daughter was _blushing._

“Do you have a date?”

Her cheeks turn an even deeper shade of pink. “No!”

Jeralt examines his daughter’s face. In the span of twenty seconds, she’d emoted more than he’d previously been able to get in a week. Though he’d never seen the look on his daughter’s face, it was familiar. It was _Sitri_. The first time he’d seen his wife smile like that was when he told her he loved her.

It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. He knew why his daughter wanted to go to the ball. 

She was _in love_. 

But with _who?_

He needed to figure that out before the ball.

  
  
  


__________

  
  


Byleth had chosen to teach the Blue Lions. Jeralt couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride when she’d told him. He was a Faerghan, after all.

Due to this, Jeralt knew the brand of the Kingdom nobility like the back of his hand. Rough and tough men hiding surprisingly soft hearts. Strong but graceful women that possessed unmatched determination. 

Powerful and militaristically advanced as they may be, they were all notoriously bad liars. He could read their intentions like a book.

When usually gathering reconnaissance for a mission, Jeralt — who liked things quick and simple — liked to start at the top of the chain. In this situation, that would be the crown prince. He was the house leader, he would know what was going on with his daughter, wouldn’t he? 

But no, the prince, unlike the nobles he was destined to lead, was hard to read. Byleth had mentioned that she’d seen a darkness lurking behind that princely facade. He’d seen it himself in Remire. The way his face had contorted with such anger that he’d been nearly unrecognizable.

Maybe it’d be best to steer away from that one for now.

So, he does the opposite, and knows exactly who he’ll start with. Someone who wouldn’t lie to him, and wouldn’t dare to play any games. 

“You, get over here,” he says gruffly, pointing a finger at the boy seated comfortably in a corner of the library.

Ashe jumps, the book slamming shut in his lap as he scrambles out of his seat. “J-Jeralt—Sir Jeralt! Captain mister Jeralt sir!” He stammers, giving an awkward salute. 

“Settle down, you aren’t in trouble,” he assures the kid, who seems to be shaking in his boots as he stands to attention. “I just have some questions. Think you can help me out?” He asks, holding up his quill and parchment as proof.

The kid still seems scared shitless, eyes wide as a doe as he processes the request. “Q-questions, sir? Yes— yes sir, I think I may be able to help— Unless I can’t, then I’m terribly—”

Jeralt sighs deeply, and the kid flinches as if he’d breathed fire or something. “Yes or no?”

He hesitates before answering, and Jeralt fears he may pass out. “Yes,” he squeaks.

“Good. I’ve seen you around. You’re agile, quick on your feet, stealthy even. If anyone were to notice any changes around the classroom, it’d be you, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” 

Jeralt crosses his arms over his chest, leaning down so he’s almost eye level with the boy. The kid holds his gaze steadily, but Jeralt can see his hands trembling as he clutches a book over his chest. “Your professor— _my daughter_ — she’s been acting weird. I want to know why.”

“W—weird sir? How so?”

“She wants to go to the ball,” Jeralt sniffs, his nose wrinkling in disdain at the memory of their conversation this morning. “And she was all...blushy about it.”

Ashe blinks at him, but a slow smile spreads across his trembling lips. “Ah, the ball. Yes, the professor seemed...unusually enthusiastic about it. She mentioned that Sylvain—”

Jeralt immediately scowls. _Gautier. Of course it would be him._ The boy hit on anything with a heartbeat, including the females in his mercenary group. 

Including his daughter.

“Where can I find him?”

__________

  
  


“Captain Jeralt!” 

The blonde brat — Ingrid, he thinks — greets him with a bright smile and steady salute. She elbows Jeralt’s next target beside her, and Gautier throws him a lazy smile. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure, sir?”

Jeralt wants to wipe the smile off that annoyingly smug face of his. “I have some questions. About your professor.”

Sylvain’s smug smile only grows, and Jeralt feels his temples begin to throb. “What about our lovely professor?”

Ingrid jabs him in the abdomen with the butt of her lance, and he doubles over. Jeralt decides he likes Ingrid.

“Ashe mentioned…” He actually didn’t know what he mentioned, everything after the name ‘Gautier’ was a blur. “...something about you and my daughter at the ball.”

Gautier’s eyes brighten with a spark of remembrance. “Right! Obviously when I asked her to be my date, she’d turned me down. Gently, but it still hurt nonetheless. So, I asked her to save me a waltz instead, and she said she didn’t really know how, so I taught her. If you ask me, I think she just wanted to impress—ow! Ingrid!” He groans, jumping back. “Don’t go stomping on my toes! I need to be able to dance with the ladies all night long.”

Jeralt tunes out the scolding as he processes the red heads words. She turned down Gautier, asked him to teach her how to waltz, and wanted to impress someone. 

Whoever she wanted to impress was clearly who she liked. 

He’s about to press further when he hears it. It’s a gentle, bubbling laugh that floats through the training grounds. Jeralt turns towards it, and sees his daughter across the room, a bright smile on her face. 

His brain short-circuits. Byleth. Laughing. Smiling. 

She isn’t alone. 

Grumpy Looking Brat is in front of her, chest heaving as he shakes his head, mutters something incoherent, making Byleth laugh again. 

His baby...is happy.

“You’re getting better, Felix,” she says, and the way she says his name is unlike any way he’d ever heard her use for her other students. “You almost had me that time!”

She offers him a hand, and he doesn’t hesitate to take it, letting her pull him up.

“He’s so smitten,” he hears Gautier snicker behind him to Ingrid. “Who would have thought that Felix Hugo Fraldarius would have the hots for our professor?”

“He doesn’t have the hots for her, he isn’t _you_ ,” Ingrid retorts in a harsh whisper. “But he obviously fancies her to some extent, which I will admit is a little unexpected, because, well, you know how he is.”

“Yeah.” Jeralt can _hear_ the smile on Gautier’s face. “Think he’ll ask her to the Goddess Tower tonight?”

Ingrid snorts. “I doubt it. You think Felix is one to believe in those silly legends?” 

_Felix,_ Jeralt repeats to himself as he watches them reclaim their stances, circling around each other, swords drawn. 

They hit him like a flash flood, a current of memories from the Great Tree Moon until now. 

_Felix is the only one that studies swordsmanship._

_Felix complimented my fighting style._

_Felix wants me to teach him the move you taught me._

_Felix wants to spar after dinner._

Felix this, Felix that. It’d always been him. 

_Well, shit,_ he thinks, unable to hide his smile as he watches them dance around each other, blades in hand, exchanging glancing blows. Their movements are perfectly in sync with one another. When she steps forward, he steps back. With every sidestep and sweep, he’s there, meeting her in the middle. They maneuver around each other with practiced ease, a sense of familiarity that it took years for him to find with her. 

A Fraldarius. His daughter likes a Fraldarius. He’d have to have a drink with Rodrigue next time he came around to discuss this unexpected development. 

It was unexpected, initially unwanted, but Jeralt found himself suddenly wholeheartedly embracing it. 

His baby...could love. 

__________

  
  


Jeralt lounges on a bench outside, letting the cool wind caress him as he drinks his cheap whiskey and stares up at the night sky. It’s...nice. If Byleth wanted to stay, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. 

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye, and sees Felix tread through the courtyard. Jeralt has a feeling he knows where he’s headed.

As expected, Byleth trails out a few seconds after, sending him a small wave when she spots him across the court. She’s dressed up in the Academy’s evening wear, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders in soft waves. She looks like Sitri.

He lifts his flask in greeting, and the smile she sends him makes his chest feel warm. Then she’s off, headed the same way as Felix.

Jeralt winces as he takes a particularly long swig from his flask. He’ll probably be able to get better alcohol at a Fraldarius wedding. 

He screws the cap back on, returning his gaze to the sky. “You see that, honey?” Jeralt sighs to the heavens, where his love watches. “Our baby is going to be okay.”

  
  
  
  


**Imperial Year 1185**

**_15th Day of the Lone Moon_ **

  
  


Rodrigue liked parties.

He liked to socialize. With the continent in conflict, he seldom got to catch up with his old friends nowadays. Even before the war, he’d been too wrapped up in holding a crumbling kingdom together by the seams. 

Now that he was back in Garreg Mach, he supposed he could afford one night of relaxation. It was a _free day_ , after all. It was in the name.

The get-together he’d organized could hardly be called a party, but he’d call it one, nonetheless. It was a gathering, there was food, and more importantly there was alcohol. What more would anyone need?

He’d invited the students of the Blue Lion house to their old classroom. All were present, even His Highness had abandoned his post in the cathedral to scowl at nothing in the corner of the classroom. 

It hurt Rodrigue to see it, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

So, he mingles. He makes the rounds to talk a bit with everyone. It’s good to know who he’s fighting this war alongside. He chats idly about battalions and tactics with the Church of Seiros folk; Seteth, Catherine, even the arguably odd little girl, Flayn. With Gustave— no, he was Gilbert here — they shared their concerns about their prince. 

It seems that the Blue Lions themselves have been sequestered off into their own little groups, talking amongst themselves as they sip on ale. He sets his sights on the one closest to the fireplace, a lively bunch consisting of Gilbert’s daughter, a familiar looking bishop, and the adoptive son of the late Lord Lonato. 

“Good evening,” he smiles warmly. “I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves.” 

Gilbert’s daughter — Annette that was her name — startles and whirls around. “Bah! Sorry, Lord Rodrigue! It’s just— now I know where Felix gets all his stealthiness from. He’s so quiet, you’ll never know he’s behind you! Isn’t that right, Mercie?” 

Rodrigues heart jumps into his throat at the mention of his son. “Felix?”

The bishop— Mercie, — nods enthusiastically as she giggles. “Felix is very silent on his feet. He’s always lurking around the monastery and sneaking up on everyone. Just like when we were in school!”

Rodrigue chuckles at the thought of Felix following his classmates around in the safety of the shadows. His youngest had always been oddly withdrawn, preferring to watch the merriment from afar rather than immerse himself within it. So different from his big brother.

“Unless he’s with the professor,” Lonato’s adoptive son pipes up, the shy boy he’d met five years ago sounding more confident than the last time they’d spoken. “He can never sneak up on her, she always seems to know when he’s there!” 

“You’re right, Ashe!” Annette agrees. “She won’t even turn around, she’ll just be like ‘Felix, I could hear your boots on the pavement from a mile away,’ or ‘Felix, I could set that bush on fire before you could jump out at me from behind it.’” She recites the lines with a stoic face, in a voice he assumes is the professor’s. “It was like some sort of game for them.”

Rodrigue isn’t quite sure why he’s so amused by this tidbit. “Well, as a child, Felix did always enjoy hide and seek.” 

The group looks highly amused at this, shouting goodbyes as they follow Annette, who says something about blackmail. 

Now alone, Rodrigue saunters over to where Ingrid and Sylvain are chatting. He’s comfortable with these two, he’d known them since they were in nappies. “Ingrid, Sylvain,” he grins, clapping Sylvain on the shoulder and giving Ingrid a chaste kiss on the cheek. “How are you two holding up?” 

“Much better now that you’ve joined us,” Ingrid answers, the relief evident in her exhale. “While I’m not confident that we can prevail against the Empire, it’s greatly reassuring to have you fighting alongside us.” 

Rodrigue silently agrees. While Faerghan soldiers are amongst the best of the best, their numbers were significantly lower than their opponents. In war, quality over quantity just didn’t cut it. 

“We’re hoping that you can talk some sense into His Highness,” Sylvain adds, eyes flickering to the hulking shadow in the corner of the classroom. “He’s so hellbent on killing Edelgard that he isn’t thinking about the rest of us.” 

Rodrigue had hoped to talk some sense into him as well, but his countless efforts had borne fruitless. Just what would it take to make the troubled prince see the errors of his ways?

“I assure you that I am working on it,” he grounds out, “Until then, I ask that in return, you keep an eye on Felix for me. You two are the only ones I can trust to do it.” 

Ingrid and Sylvain exchange a look, goofy smiles plastered onto both of their faces. “Trust me,” Ingrid laughs, “you don’t have to worry about Felix.” 

“Yeah, and not because of us, either,” Sylvain tacks on, throwing an arm around Ingrid’s shoulders. He juts his chin at something behind Rodrigue, and he curiously turns his head to peek over his shoulder.

Across the room, Felix is conversing with the professor. He isn’t just conversing though, conversing was the neutral term for making small talk with an acquaintance. 

Judging from the way both their cheeks were flushed a light shade of crimson, Rodrigue could only conclude that they were _flirting._

His son was flirting. With the professor. 

How unexpected.

“What do you think he’s saying?” Ingrid amusedly asks Sylvain.

“Probably some double entendre about swords. ‘Hey, By, let me stick you with my pointy end,’” Sylvain guffaws, and Rodrigue turns back just in time to see Ingrid slap the back of his head. 

“Please excuse his crude sense of humour,” Ingrid apologizes, looking more embarrassed than Sylvain. “What we meant to say is that Felix and the professor are very…close. You won’t need to worry about him.” 

The pair step out of the classroom without so much as a goodbye, and Rodrigue finds his feet moving to follow them. He bids farewell to the kids, keeping considerable distance between himself and the… couple?

He ends up hiding behind a pillar in the training grounds, peeking around as Felix tosses the professor a training sword. She catches it with ease, spinning it deftly between her fingers before charging at him, sword raised to strike. 

Her fighting style was unlike anything he’d seen before. It wasn’t like the traditional Fraldarius style with strong, devastating blows. It was mix of brawling and swordfaire, and it _worked._ He did recognize a few moves from the times he’d watched Felix spar, and now he knew where he had learned them. 

It was clear that Felix was stronger, his major crest activated often, giving him the upper hand in terms of strength. She was faster though, smarter. She effortlessly glided past the blade of his sword, always coming back with a counterattack of her own. 

She managed to disarm him with a well timed flick of her wrist, sending his sword clattering across the floor. He felt a bit of disappointment bubble in his stomach. Not at Felix, but for him. He knew his son hated to lose. 

Then Felix did something Rodrigue didn’t expect. A glyph crackled on the tips of his fingers, and a bolt of thunder appeared in front of the professor. Magic! His son knew magic! It provided enough of a distraction for Felix to lunge for his sword, bringing it up to rest under the professor’s chin before she could collect herself. 

She dropped her sword. “I yield.” 

Felix smiled. Rodrigue hadn’t seen his son smile like that in years. “Finally, I notched a win against you.” 

She let out a breathless laugh as he lowered his sword. “I almost had you.” 

“True. It was a narrow victory.” They move to take a seat on one of the steps. Felix stretches his legs out as Byleth crosses hers. “When we spar, I feel like I’m revisiting my past.”

“Why?” 

“It’s like training with my brother.” Rodrigue stills, his heart hammering in his chest at the rare mention of Glenn. “He always won — always — and died before I could win a single bout. From the first time I’d held a sword, all I wanted was to surpass him. And that’s what drove me to become so strong. Perhaps it’s absurd to say such a thing but...I’ve spent all my years training for a duel with a corpse.” 

“It’s not absurd,” Byleth says with a slight shake of her head. “You found an answer to my question.” 

Felix pauses at this, and Rodrigue holds his breath. He’d never seen his son bare his raw emotions like this. Not to him, not to Sylvain or Ingrid, especially not to Dimitri. 

“Yes, I suppose I did. I can never again spar with my brother. Not unless he crawls out of his grave. Still I continue my endless pursuit of strength. Maybe because I have a new opponent to measure myself against.” 

“Who?” She asks, a teasing smile on her lips. “I want to hear you say it, Felix.”

He releases a frustrated groan, and she nudges him playfully. “You, obviously. I beat you this time, but when we next cross swords, who knows what might happen. It was a close match, not a crushing victory. I know that I can do better. I will surpass you in strength, and then I’ll become stronger still.” 

Rodrigue suppresses a roll of his eyes. Now _that_ sounds like his son.

“Don’t count me out yet.”

“Ha. Just what I was hoping you’d say,” Felix chuckles, turning to face her. “Anyway, thank you. For helping me find the answer to the question you asked, all those years ago.”

He raises a hand to her cheek, brushing a strand of hair from her face before carefully, tentatively cupping her face. She leans into his touch, and Felix leans in—

Not wanting to intrude on the tender moment, Rodrigue walks brusquely out of the training ground, hoping he gets out undetected. 

He can’t hide the smile on his face or the skip in his step when he returns to the Blue Lions room. 

His son had finally opened up to someone.

  
  


__________

  
  


“Ah, you came,” Rodrigue greets, shutting his tactics primer as Felix closes the door behind him.

“Senile already, old man? This is my room,” he retorts, crossing his arms over his chest and staring — quizzically, not aggressively, — at Rodrigue. “Well? Any reason in particular that you’re here, disturbing my peace?”

Rodrigue reaches behind him and pulls out a fine bottle of scotch and two glasses. “Is it so wrong to request a drink with my son?” He pours a bit into the glass, but the look Felix shoots his way reminds him that his son is 23 now. 

“Nothing wrong with it,” Felix sniffs as he takes the glass. “Just unusual. What do you want?”

“I just want to talk,” Rodrigue shrugs.

Felix scoffs disbelievingly. “We’re marching to our deaths in Gronder tomorrow, and you want to talk? Didn’t take you as the sentimental type.”

The high likelihood of death is exactly why he wanted to talk. “I want to know if you’re courting the professor.”

Felix chokes on his drink, alcohol sputtering. “W—what?” He asks incredulously, setting the glass down on the desk.

“The professor,” Rodrigue repeats, slower this time as to not startle him. “Are you courting her? Or is it just sex?”

Felix seems to choke on air this time. “What are you going on about?” He snaps, but the look on his face screams ‘guilty as charged.’

“Don’t be coy,” Rodrigue laughs heartily. “I’ve been here for two months now. You aren’t as good at hiding your feelings as you think.” He pauses, wondering if he should continue. He should. “Also, you seem to forget that you aren’t the only ones living in the dorms. Sylvain tells me that it’s odd that two usually reserved individuals are so loud in—” 

“Damn Sylvain,” Felix’s ears turn a deep shade of red at that, and seems to be staggering over his words. “Ridiculous,” he huffs eventually, turning away to look any way but Rodrigue’s. “Absolutely ridiculous.” 

“You say that,” Rodrigue grins wolfishly, leaning forward in his seat, “yet I do not hear you denying it.” 

“Yes!” Felix groans loudly. “Yes...I suppose I’m...courting Byleth.” 

Was that so hard? Rodrigue certainly didn’t think so. “Do you intend to marry her?” 

“We’re fighting a war. I don’t have time for thoughts like that.” 

“Wars begin and end,” Rodrigue shrugs in response. “But it’s what you do after that counts.” 

Felix stays silent as his face returns to a normal colour. “I don’t know…” he admits softly. “She’s inevitably going to become Archbishop. I’m...I don’t know what I’ll be doing— if I live to see the end of this, that is.” Rodrigue hands him the glass, and he takes a larger than normal swig, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“I know I’m your father and you’re inclined to take everything I say with a grain of salt,” he starts, sighing. “But I’ll tell you what I make of the situation at hand. It’s just a suggestion.”

His silence is enough for Rodrigue to continue. “I know you’re a warrior at heart, Felix, but one day, you will become the Head of the House. You’ll take over leadership of Fraldarius territory. Now, there are two ways you can proceed from there. You can do this alone, the meetings, the missives, the negotiating, all the things I know you will despise. You can drag yourself through it day to day until you die. Or, you can wake up in the arms of your loved ones, and eventually make it easier to bear.” 

Felix chuckles, shaking his head. “She’s just as bad at it as I am. We’d make terrible rulers.”

Rodrigue takes another sip of his scotch. “Well, isn’t that what love is? Growing together? I’ve been doing this by myself for a long time, you know. It gets lonely.” 

Felix frowns as his forehead creases with thought. “Since when were you so sappy, old man?”

“Since I found out that my son was in love.” 

Ah, to say the L word. If he were being honest, he never thought he’d be saying it to Felix. Since the death of Glenn, he’d been cold. He’d been quick to freeze them all out. People didn’t understand the way he dealt with his pain, Rodrigue included. 

How lucky Felix had been to finally find someone who did understand him. 

And she was the Blade Breaker’s daughter! Who better to spar with for the rest of his days? 

“I have something else to give you,” Rodrigue remembered, digging into his pocket. “It’s yours to use as you see fit.” He places the ring into Felix’s palm, closing his fingers around it. It’d belonged to his mother, nearly a lifetime ago now. “Perhaps with a worthy opponent like her at your side, you can finally...know peace.”

Felix doesn’t say anything, the corners of his lips quirking upwards as he places the ring in his pocket. “Thank you, Father. I...Thank you.” He downs the rest of his drink and turns on his heel, striding out of the room.

Rodrigue hopes he will live to see the day his son places the ring on her finger.

  
  
  


**Present**

**Midwinter**

  
  


Felix used to dislike parties. 

He used to dislike balls and galas, anything that meant he would inevitably be dragged around by Sylvain as he gallivanted around the room to entertain an endless train of women. 

It was different now. Sure, he didn’t look forward to them, but he certainly didn’t mind them. 

First of all, Sylvain was married now, he didn’t drag Felix into any more insufferable gaggles of girls. 

Second of all, Felix was married to the Archbishop. After a brief round of mingling, he could sit in her dais above the swarm of people with the only woman that mattered to him. 

Third of all, he had kids. Kids that he could see at all times from the very dais he occupied at this very moment. 

He watches as Glenn twirls Astrid around the room with the grace of a professional dancer. Like she had taught him all those years ago, Byleth had taught Glenn just as well. 

His eyes find Byleth standing next to Dimitri and Ingrid, donning her Archbishop regalia and headpiece, looking absolutely stunning as always. Her eyes seem to sparkle as she watches their son.

“Father?” 

Sitri stands beside him, hugging the shawl he’d made her wear tightly around her shoulders. “Sitri? Are you alright?” He asks on instinct. 

She seems hesitant, her expression clouded. “I...I’m okay. I think. I just...you were right,” she mumbles quietly. 

Felix flexes his fingers before giving them a few audible cracks. “Ah, about Mikael? Where is he?” 

“You don’t have to be so smug about it,” she grumbles, dropping herself into a chair. Felix was going for threatening, but smug worked too. “Ugh, why are boys so stupid?” 

“Hey, we aren’t all bad,” Felix protests lightly, taking a seat beside her. “We all mellow out eventually,” he adds, brushing teal hair over her shoulder. “Are you going to tell me what brought this sudden revelation on?”

“I don’t think I love Mikael,” she admits, and Felix’s heart doesn’t just jump for joy, it does backflips and cartwheels. “But...I think I really like Christophe.”

The cartwheels screech to a halt as his heart skips a beat. “Christophe?” 

“Yes. He’s nice to me.” 

Felix cocks a brow. “So, does that mean you like him as a friend or...something more?”

“I don’t know— I just, I like him, that’s all.”

Felix doesn’t quite know what to say. He’d never been good at the advice thing, that was Byleth’s specialty.

“Daddy? Can I ask you something?” She requests, looking up at him with her big doe eyes. 

_No._ “Of course.”

“When did you know you liked Mother? Like, _really_ liked her?”

Huh. That, he actually could answer. “The first time I kissed her.”

“Awe, really? Father, that’s so sappy and totally unlike you,” she teases, nudging him a little. 

It was disgustingly sweet, he knows. “It’s true. I’d kissed a handful of girls before, but the day I kissed your mother...it was like none of them had even existed. It was just...her. The feel of her soft lips on mine, the way she ran her fingers through my hair, the way she moved against me. I’ve never liked heat, we Faerghans thrive in the chill of winter. But Sitri, the first time she kissed me, I felt warm all over, and I _liked_ it. I never wanted to be cold again.” 

“Father…are you telling me I have to kiss Christophe to figure out whether I love him or not?”

“What— no! You’re absolutely not allowed— Sitri?! Where are you going?” His daughter shoots up out of her seat and darts out of his range.

“Thank you for the advice, Daddy!”

“I swear to the goddess above if you lay a lip on that boy I’ll—”

“What do you swear to me, husband?” Byleth interrupts from the doorway. Glenn trails in behind her, dragging a wriggling Sitri along in a headlock. “I caught your daughter making a break for it.”

“Let me go, you brute!” She argues, gripping at his arm. 

“What, so you can go kiss your prince?” He teases, ruffling her hair.

“Ah!” She shrieks loudly, all composure lost as she tries in vain to save her pretty updo. “Mother! Make him stop!”

“Glenn, let go of your sister, please,” Byleth sighs tiredly, giving him a pointed look. Glenn relents, letting his sister wiggle out of his grip and attempt to fix her hair. 

She points a finger at him, a fire blazing behind her eyes. “You’re just jealous because you don’t have the guts to kiss Astrid!” 

Glenn looks absolutely scandalized as he looks between him and Byleth. “I told you that in confidence!” He hisses, his hand flinching towards his sword. 

Byleth recognizes the look of a Fraldarius when threatened, and immediately moves to dissipate the situation. “Settle, you two,” she says in her best Professor Eisner voice. “We are at an event, and you are expected to be what?”

Glenn stands up straighter, and Sitri rolls her eyes. “Model citizens of Faerghus and upstanding members of the Church,” they grumble together. Byleth nods approvingly, but when she turns to face Felix, he catches Sitri stick her tongue out and Glenn, who returns the gesture with a flip of his middle finger.

“What’s gotten into them?” She inquires curiously, looking back at the children, who are still glaring at each other.

“Sitri asked me about love,” Felix replies.

“Ah, and you told her the first kiss story, didn’t you?” Before he can ask how she knows, she continues. “You tell everyone that story, darling.” 

“Are you tired of hearing it?” 

She closes the short distance between them, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing her soft lips on his. “Never,” she whispers, earning a collective groan from Glenn and Sitri.

When she pulls away, she holds her arm out, inviting their children into their warm embrace. “Oh, come here you lovesick fools.”

Sitri doesn’t hesitate to run in, wrapping her arms around both of them and tucking her face into Felix’s chest. Glenn shows a bit more restraint, long legs carrying him over gracefully, but the hug is strong and full of love. 

The noise from the party below disappears, and Felix feels that familiar warm feeling seep through every molecule of his body, enveloping his heart and squeezing out every bit of love it can. A love that Felix hadn’t realized he harboured until he met Byleth.

A love for his family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, we come to a close! Thank you so much to everyone who has supported, enjoyed, and read this little fic of mine. I truly appreciate every single one of you. 
> 
> Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I see you, I love you, I appreciate you :)


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